Fearless
by Aeolian Mode
Summary: Toshinori is extremely sick following his battle with All for One, and Shota is unwillingly roped into the caregiver role. He realizes he cares far more than he wants to admit. (Sickfic, Whump, Caretaking. Major TWs: depression/anxiety/addiction/chronic pain/emetophobia. The cat lives.)
1. Chapter 1

Shota Aizawa noticed things.

It was his job, as both a pro hero and a schoolteacher, to keep tabs on anything suspicious. But when you've been a hero for twelve years, anything becomes suspicious, from the slightest twitch in a man's fingertips to the pace of his steps. Shota had trained over the years to make snap judgements, to react, to stay on guard. A skilled hero never believed he was safe. A skilled hero never believed all was well.

So, Shota noticed things. He noticed how Yagi was starting to sag in his chair. He noticed the sweat gleaming on his face, even though the room was chilly. He noticed how he was trying to type one-handed on the keyboard, because his right arm was in a heavy cast, but his fingers were shaking in their bandaging. He noticed how often he bowed his forehead into his palm and closed his eyes. He noticed the change in his breathing, the too-deep rise and fall of his chest beneath his loose-fitting yellow dress shirt. He noticed the glass of water on his desk was completely full, the bento box next to it still wrapped up and untouched. It was 2:45.

Shota was shocked that he was even here. The foolish man was still fresh out of the hospital, but he had been on 22 TV and radio interviews in the past few days, swarmed by the press and paparazzi every time he stepped foot in public, and was now sitting here in the teachers' office trying to type up lesson plans with one hand. Shota didn't know why Nezu agreed to let him come back to work so soon. He imagined Yagi probably begged and pleaded until their mousey principal finally relented.

_Well, if Yagi wants to work himself to the bone, I can't stop him. He's probably trying to cope, in his own foolish, self destructive way. _

Shota rubbed the crust from his eyelids, wincing as his fingertips pressed against his eyeballs. They always felt bruised inside, sore, like an overworked muscle. The scar against the dent in his skull still hurt. He pulled a bottle of eye drops from his jumpsuit pocket and tilted his head back, trying not to involuntarily blink before the medicated droplets hit his irises. He returned his attention to his too-bright computer screen and proceeded to grade papers, pushing Yagi out of his mind.

The only other people here were Yamada and Kayama, all focused on their own computers. The room was quiet, save for the clacking sound of fingers on keyboards, the hum of the air conditioner, and the faint pulsing beats of music from Yamada's over-ear headphones.

And the sound of Yagi's breathing, which became audibly heavy and wet.

Shota glimpsed movement from Yagi's desk. The man abruptly stood up, knees wobbling, a hand pressed to his mouth, and stumbled to the door. He was off-kilter. His good hand dropped to the doorknob, wrenching it open, and he was out of sight before Shota could speak. He didn't close the door behind him.

Yamada and Kayama were watching, heads poking up from behind their monitors.

"Is he okay?" Yamada's voice was, as usual, too loud. This time, it was because he failed to turn his music off.

"He looked kind of sick." Kayama clicked her tongue and stood, wandering over to the door to poke her head into the hall. Shota watched her back as she leaned around the wall. He couldn't see her face, but he saw her shoulders tensing in the too-thin fabric on her arms. Whatever she saw or heard wasn't good.

"Oh… oh yeah, I can hear him throwing up from the men's room." She returned her attention to the room. Her eyes met Shota's.

"What?"

"You should check on him."

"I'm busy. Ask Mic."

Yamada's head disappeared back beneath his monitor. The sound of music blared even louder from his headphones. Shota could see his hand smoothing against the odd swoop of his slicked-back, spiked hair. He was deliberately ignoring them.

"He's emetophobic." Kayama explained in a sigh, a hand on her hip.

"A what now?"

"He's afraid of sick people."

Shota remembered now. Poor Present Mic had a more high-strung personality than anyone he knew, and was prone to anxiety. There were quite a few things he just couldn't deal with. He seemed to remember this 'emetophobia' issue coming up once or twice while they were students together, years ago.

"So you check on him." Shota said, tilting his head at Kayama.

"It's the men's room."

"Not like that's stopped you before."

"Yes, but I think I'd just embarrass him. Look, Eraserhead, you're low key. Just go in there and make sure he's not choking to death. Please?"

Shota groaned and rose from his chair. "Just like you to rope people in to things." He said under his breath in a deadpan tone.

Kayama laughed, slapping him on the back as he passed.

* * *

Shota entered the men's restroom. This one only had two stalls and one sink. It was adjacent to the teachers' office, so at least Yagi didn't have to go very far. Shota's bloodshot eyes scanned the floor. In the crack between the walls of the stall and the floor, Shota could see Yagi on his knees where he was kneeling on the tiles.

Yagi retched a hollow trickle into the Western style toilet, the miserable sound reverberating in the bathroom. Shota saw him crossing his ankles and twisting his feet. As he listened to him cough and spit and wheeze his breaths, he realized how much pain Yagi was in. Those weren't just the sounds of a sick man. He was in agony.

_At least he's breathing._

Shota crossed his arms and leaned his back against the wall. He wasn't going to go in there and hold his hair. Yagi would probably find it embarrassing. Instead, he kept track of the time on his phone, waiting for the sounds in the stall to abate. He busied his hands by gathering up some of those cheap, brown paper towels that were always stocked in bathrooms, folding them into neat squares.

It took seven and a half minutes before Yagi finally stopped dry heaving, and Shota heard the toilet flush. The man in the stall struggled to his feet and opened the door. His chin was streaked with blood, spatters of it on his tie, the tips of his bangs stained red. Shota guessed it wasn't possible for him to do much to keep himself from getting hit with backsplash, when he only had one hand to work with.

Yagi startled when he noticed Shota. "Ah… how long have you been standing there?" He sounded like he had been deepthroating sandpaper. His shoulder leaned heavily against the wall of the stall.

Shota handed him the paper towels. "A while."

Yagi looked embarrassed, averting his gaze. He took the paper towels and wiped his mouth and chin, then returned into the stall. Shota watched him kneel back down. Was he going to be sick again? Shota peered over the man's shoulder. At this distance he could smell an acrid scent clinging to Yagi's clothes, revolting and unmistakable.

Instead of vomiting again, Yagi seemed to be wiping the rim of the toilet with the paper towels. It looked like a crime scene, blood on the seat, rolling down the side of the ceramic, spattering the tiled floor. Yagi was just making it worse, smearing the vivid crimson around the porcelain white surface.

"I can just let the janitor know. Leave it, Yagi."

The sick man muttered something apologetic under his breath and tossed the bloodied paper towels into the nearby trash can. Shota heard his bones pop as he stood. He debated reaching out to help, but it seemed Yagi was managing on his own, using the wall for leverage. He moved out of the way as Yagi dragged himself to the sink, turning on the water. With one hand he tried to cup it under the stream and splash it on his face, then take a haphazard sip of the tap water that had pooled in his palm, swishing it and spitting it back out.

"Need to see Recovery Girl?" Shota asked.

"No. It's my meds. The painkillers are on a higher dose than I'm used to. And it's reacting to stuff I already take. It's made me nauseous." Yagi took another sip from his palm. "This is embarrassing. Sorry, Aizawa."

Shota ignored his apology. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah." Yagi spit into the sink. "What time is it?" He asked hoarsely.

Shota checked his phone. "2:56."

Yagi coughed and straightened. "Shit. I'm going to miss class." He started for the door. Shota followed. He was on his way back into the teachers' office. When he stepped inside, both Yamada and Kayama were watching uneasily.

"All Might? Feeling alright, big guy?" Kayama's voice was forced casual, concerned. Yagi completely ignored her as he headed to his desk in the corner of the room.

"Where's my notes…" Yagi muttered under his breath as he tossed things around on his desk. He found what he was looking for, tucking a blue folder under his arm. He spun on his heel.

Shota crossed his arms, standing in the doorway, blocking the foolish teacher's exit. Yagi squinted at him, looking worn out and frustrated.

"Aizawa, I'm fine."

"There's blood all over your tie. And in your hair."

"Ah…" The man looked down at himself, grimacing. "So there is."

"What are you expecting to accomplish? That you'll teach for an entire hour without spewing blood all over the whiteboard?"

"It's not a big deal. I'm already feeling better-"

"You're not teaching class. I'm taking you home." In one swift motion, Aizawa removed his keyring from his pocket, jingling his car keys.

Yagi coughed into his hand. "But-"

Shota waved a hand in Yamada's direction, trying to get his attention. Yamada nervously peeled back one earcup of his headphones.

"Mic. Can you take over for Yagi?"

"Uh- sure, I think I can do that. Yeah, no problem. Don't worry about class, All Might!" Yamada said good-naturedly and flashed a too-wide smile. Shota knew that look. The man was on the edge of fight-or-flight. Better to get Yagi out of the room sooner rather than later.

Shota yanked the folder away from Yagi's limp grasp before he could protest, then slapped it on Yamada's desk. "Do the best you can with that. If you don't know what to do, you can always just let the kids leave early. I don't think they'll complain." He picked up a small trash can from nearby, which was full of wadded up paper, and handed it to Yagi. "If you barf in my car, you're cleaning it."

* * *

Shota and Yagi never called each other by their hero names. It was a habit that Shota had developed ever since he had seen the man's true form for the first time. It was when the principal, Nezu, had introduced All Might to the faculty of U.A. when he began his tenure. The world's greatest hero was here to teach at the school- and he had a big secret.

Shota remembered it vividly. The teaching staff of U.A. were herded a dimly lit conference room with no windows and the promise of absolute discretion. When All Might shrank and deflated in a billowing cloud of steam, revealing a pathetic skeleton of a man in his place, the shock among his peers and colleagues was palpable.

All Might and Toshinori Yagi were two completely different men.

Now that the hero, All Might, was retired, quirkless and no more, Shota had to grapple with how he felt about the man now. The other teachers kept calling him All Might. The students, too. But Shota couldn't reconcile the All Might he knew- and loathed- with the shell of a man who was following him out to the parking lot. So he was "Yagi." And Shota was just "Aizawa" to him in turn. Not Eraserhead. Shota could only guess Yagi was trying to be polite and speak to him on the same level.

He had to walk slowly. Yagi was aching, he could see it in the hunch of his shoulders and the languid, dizzy pace of his steps. He vomited twice on the way here, once in the elevator, and again while they headed into the parking lot. If it wasn't for the trash can that Shota insisted he carry, it would have been a bit of a mess. He was shocked the man still had stuff to lose, though it wasn't much but bile and blood.

They made it to Shota's car. It was black, rusty and a bit beat up, a few visible bullet holes in the windshield that he never got around to getting properly repaired. Inside, it smelled musty, due to a good handful of times heavy rains leaked moisture into the carpeted floor mats and chairs. A few scattered receipts and half-filled energy drinks took up space in the cupholders.

Yagi didn't complain as he belted himself into the passenger seat, the trash can placed between his feet. The man was so tall he nearly hit his head on the ceiling of the interior.

"Where do you live?" Shota asked as he readied his phone's GPS.

Yagi muttered out an address, his forehead leaning against the glass of the passenger door window.

Shota drove in silence, occasionally glancing over at the other man, making sure he didn't seem to be taking a turn for the worst.

Five minutes later, Yagi spoke. "I've been wondering something for a while."

"Mmm?"

"S-sorry, this is a little awkward, but. I can't figure it out on my own, so I figured I'd just ask. Are we friends?"

Aizawa scoffed.

"Oh, that's not a good sign," Yagi laughed weakly. "It's just, ah. I've been wanting to be friends with you all year. You're a case I haven't quite cracked."

"You can call it whatever you want, Yagi. But I still don't like you."

"Such brutal honesty! Well, at least I'm not left wondering anymore." Yagi paused. "You mind filling me in on why?"

Shota took a breath, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel. He didn't want to have this conversation. But Yagi deserved an answer. "You're a damn liar. You lie. All the time. Almost every other word out of your mouth is a lie."

Yagi blinked. "I- pardon?"

"Ugh. You're such a good liar you even convinced yourself. Right now, for example. I was rude to you, but you're pretending not to care."

"Ah…"

"You were lying about your limits in the teacher's lounge earlier. You were lying to our students when we held the conference last week. You've been lying to every single reporter, on every single interview-"

"Okay, I get it, I get it-"

"-down to that stupid fake smile-"

"-Aizawa, you're speeding-"

"-and every time we ask you if you've eaten anything more than a cup of tea-"

"-Aizawa, slow down-"

"-or if you've taken your meds, or if you've slept-"

"-Shota!"

"-and when I drop you off at your apartment, I don't know if I'm going to come back later to find a corpse shriveled up on the floor, because you won't-"

"Look out!"

The cat came out of nowhere. Shota swerved a split second too late.


	2. Chapter 2

White noise flooded Shota's brain.

Spit pooled in the back of Shota's mouth. His ears felt like they were crackling with static. His hands moved on their own. They put the car in park. They removed the key from the slot. They opened the door. His legs moved, his abdomen tensed, his body rose and left the car, but his brain was still sitting there wondering what just happened. His ears were dimly aware of the sound of Yagi retching into the trash can while his eyes took in his surroundings.

A road. A sidewalk. A car. And an animal crumpled near the front tires. A cat. A gray tabby, a young adult. It was still moving. There was no blood. The cat's head was raised, its yellow eyes wide, wild and shining with a stunned, primal fear. Shota felt his heartbeat in his throat as he approached the cat and crouched, his torso tilting forward so his gray scarf unravelled from his neck. The cat was injured, unable to move its left hind leg. The limb was bent and twisted at a sickening angle.

His brain returned when he heard Yagi getting out of the car. The man shuffled up to him. He saw Yagi's brown shoes and the cuffs of his striped dress slacks in the corner of his vision, his attention focused on the struggling animal. Shota carefully scooped it into his arms, the reinforced material of his scarf gently encapsulating it.

"I- I hit a cat." He said, his throat tight. "I can't believe I… I- I can't believe I did this."

He felt Yagi's bony hand fall heavily on his shoulder, squeezing against his deltoid. Shota tensed, his bloodshot eyes flicking up to Yagi's skull-like face. His sharp cheekbones were framed by his long, frayed bangs, still stained with traces of vomit and blood. He looked like he was recently dug up out of his own grave.

He was smiling.

That stupid, cheerful, **fake **All Might smile.

"Don't worry, Aizawa. We will save it."

"You're sick, I have to take you home-"

"The vet is on the other side of town," Yagi said. "You might not make it in time if you take me home. Plus, you need someone to hold it. You won't be able to drive safely with that poor thing squirming in your scarf." His blue eyes flashed and his voice was calm. "We don't need a repeat of this, now do we?"

Shota clenched his teeth. He wanted to argue. Yagi was starting to look like All Might again, and he hated it. But the stunned cat in his scarf needed help, urgently. Shota didn't have time to think about it.

He removed the cat from his scarf and handed it over to Yagi. The taller man scooped it into his arms, his grip as gentle as a butterfly's wing on a flower. The animal struggled very little. It was probably in shock, miserable with pain. Shota felt sick, knowing he was responsible for this suffering.

He returned to the driver's seat, waiting for Yagi to return to his spot in the passenger seat, maneuvering his long legs carefully around the trash can. If he kicked that thing over, it'd make this bad day even worse. Fortunately, he managed to situate himself without incident, returning his seat-belt in place and resting the cat in his lap. His bone-thin fingers stroked the animal's dirty fur. It definitely had the look of a stray, all skin and bone.

Shota turned the car around. He knew where the nearest vet was. He had two cats of his own. He would have more, but his landlord had imposed a two-cat limit rule on the complex where he lived, and there wasn't much getting around it unless he wanted to risk getting too attached to an animal that could be taken away from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Yagi was still smiling. Despite how sick and miserable he must be feeling right now, he was smiling, as if there was nothing bad or stressful going on. Shota's guts were all knotted up and tight along with his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He was so tense, he couldn't just sit here and ignore it.

Shota spat through grit teeth, "you're doing it again."

"What?"

"That smile. I **just** told you how much I hate it."

"This one's not fake. You don't know me well enough to tell the difference, Aizawa."

Shota glanced over at him, skeptical.

"I'm not afraid." Yagi said, still smiling. "Everything is going to be okay."

Shota learned, then, the difference between an All Might smile and a Toshinori Yagi smile.

The tension in his gut eased.

By the time they arrived at the vet, Yagi had shrivelled up in the passenger seat like a parched and wilted sunflower. He hadn't vomited again, but he was holding his arm a little funny, breathing with difficulty, favoring his left side. Shota guessed his body had traded nausea for exhaustion and pain. His meds were probably wearing off.

Shota left the car running and the air on and retrieved the cat from Toshinori's grasp. "I'll take it in. You stay here." He said. "Likely they'll have to keep it overnight. I just hope it'll pull through." Shota drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying not to succumb to guilt. The cat still had a chance. Maybe it had only broken his leg, and there wasn't any internal damage. He couldn't start blaming himself before there was a verdict.

"Shota," Yagi said before he had a chance to leave, squinting at him with his shadowed eyes. "Whenever you get the vet bill… I'll pay."

Shota started to argue, before he realized that Yagi called him by his first name. In fact, that was the second time, wasn't it? He shut his mouth and nodded. "Thanks."

He was a familiar face at the vet. Both his cats were long-haired breeds, and he had them groomed here every month because he didn't have much time to groom them, himself. He was just too busy between teaching and hero work. He dropped the injured cat off with a quick explanation to the receptionist. It was a stray that he had accidentally hit, but he was claiming it as his own. She asked him for a name so she could put the cat in their system, and he bumbled. He wasn't good at coming up with names on the spot.

The only thing coming to his head, in that moment, was Yagi's smile.

"Fearless," he told the receptionist. "That's what I'll call it."

He felt **extremely **stupid as he made his way back to his car. He opened his phone's GPS again. Now, finally, he could take Yagi home. It was 20 minutes away.

"What's the verdict on the cat?" Yagi asked, his weary voice hardly audible over the rumble of the engine and the tires on the road.

"They'll call me when she's treated and ready to go. Or if she dies."

"She'll be alright."

"You don't know that. Stop lying."

Yagi drew in a deep breath through his nose. "Assuming she lives, then. Are you going to adopt her?"

"I can't. I have too many cats."

Yagi seemed to be considering this, rubbing his hollow cheek in thought. "I… could probably keep her," he offered. "Since All Might is … well. I have more time on my hands. My hero work kept me so busy before… I never thought to get any pets." He exhaled slowly. "I guess that's one good thing about being retired."

Something in the tone of Yagi's voice sounded a little sour. It was subtle, but Shota noticed it. He always noticed the little things.

"All Might is dead. You've been in denial."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yagi's free hand snagging a fistful his pant leg, fingernails digging into the fabric, and probably whatever flesh he had on his thigh, too.

"Say it, Yagi. All Might is dead."

"The Symbol of Peace is dead. I'm All Might."

"No, you're not."

Yagi's jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened as he stared out of the passenger window.

"You're Toshinori Yagi. All Might is a fake alter-ego you've cultivated for, what, thirty years? You're so used to being him that you've forgotten what it's like to be Toshinori, and you've worked yourself sick trying to ignore reality. **Lying**."

"I'm- I'm still All Might."

"No, you're not. All Might is strong enough to carry the weight of the world. He's strong enough to change the weather with a single punch. He's strong enough to move fast as light. He's strong enough to fly without wings. He's strong enough to do hours upon hours of mindless paperwork without falling over in his chair. He's strong enough to talk to a million interviewers and endure hours upon hours of brainless talk shows. And he doesn't cough up blood every five minutes, either." This time, Shota was calm. He wasn't speeding. His eyes were on the road. His muscles relaxed.

This time, it was Yagi who wasn't calm. His lips were pressed into a thin line. He curled inward a little, turning his body away so that Shota could see more of his back than his profile. He wasn't speaking, probably because he was angry. Shota was getting under his skin. He didn't know if he should be proud of that or not.

"Look at yourself, Yagi, and tell me with a straight face that you're still All Might."

"I don't- I don't want to talk about this."

Shota could respect that. At least he was being honest.

Was it a bad thing that he preferred Yagi to All Might?

He **preferred **this sad skeleton of a man to that muscle-bound, cheerful hero. But he knew how hard it must have been for Yagi to shrivel up after years of dealing with a chronic illness until the man he wanted to be- the man he saw himself as- was finally gone and dead. It was something he wanted Yagi to talk about, to admit. He wouldn't get better and move forward if he kept ignoring it, refusing to talk about it, refusing to acknowledge that it happened.

The rest of their trip was uncomfortably quiet, the only sounds from Yagi were labored breaths. When Shota arrived at the apartment complex where he lived, he found a place to park and helped the older man out of his chair. Yagi carried the trash can with him as they headed for the metal stairwell on the side of the building.

"I'm on the second floor," he explained in a strained voice, eyeing the stairs with thinly veiled dread.

"Is there an elevator?"

"No."

Shota took the trash can from Yagi's grasp and offered his shoulder. Yagi looped his arm behind Shota's neck, and the two of them ascended, one step at a time. By the time they arrived at Yagi's door, the man looked about ready to dissolve into dust. He felt delicate and brittle, like the slightest movement would shatter him.

Shota took Yagi's apartment keys and opened the door for him, pushing his way inside.

When he pictured the living space of the #1 Hero, this wasn't what he imagined. Yagi lived in a dump. There was a distinct smell of garbage coming from nearby, trash bags piled up in the hall. Every flat surface was covered in dust. As Shota helped Yagi through his apartment, Shota took in the little details, from the few framed photographs lining the walls to the dishes piled up in the sink. It was sparsely furnished. Yagi's living room, if it could be called that, only had a coffee table, couch, and recliner.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Ch-chair," Yagi pointed loosely to his recliner.

Shota walked to it, stepping over an empty cardboard box on his way to the ratty-looking chair. There was a visible bloodstain on the faux leather surface. He carefully let Yagi slide off his shoulders and slip into the chair. Yagi melted into the cushions like butter in hot sunlight.

Shota knew the look of blinding pain. It was the kind of pain that blocked out everything else in existence, the kind that made the very effort of speaking a gargantuan task. It was the kind of pain that broke a man, inescapable and constant. He had felt it before, himself. The scar on his elbow still burned. The shattered bones in his arms had healed funny. The crack in his skull would never be the same.

But Yagi, he was on a different level entirely. 30 years the Symbol of Peace, and the man had been through one horrific battle after another. Shota could only imagine how many times he'd had his bones cracked through flesh, his body painted blue and scarlet with bruises, his brain rattled in his skull, his fingers bent crooked, his organs squeezed, his ribs snapped… the life he must have suffered through was simply beyond Shota's frame of reference. Without the buttress of his quirk to hold him up, it seemed Yagi's battles finally caught up with him.

As he stood there in Yagi's disaster of an apartment, watching the man suffer, something in him broke. He spoke in a flat tone. "You told me earlier that you wanted to be my friend. Is that still true?"

Yagi inhaled thickly. "Yes, of course."

"Well." Shota straightened, fixing the prone man with a cold stare. "It's not rocket science, Yagi. I'm not friends with liars."

Yagi, silent, watched him with a twist of guilt in his eyes. Shota hated that look almost as much as he hated All Might's smile.

"So tell me the truth. Can you take care of yourself right now?"

Shota watched his prominent Adam's apple bob in his throat. He didn't speak.

Shota continued, his tone hardening. "If I leave you here in that recliner, are you going to get up once in a while, take your meds and eat supper? Are you going to be able to take a shower, brush your teeth, and sleep? Can you even walk to the bathroom on your own?"

Yagi ran his spidery fingers through his wild mane of wheat-gold hair. He averted his eyes, the glowing points of bright blue retreating into shadow. That sad, guilty, embarrassed look overtook the wrinkles in his brow.

"No."

Shota smiled. It was an Eraserhead smile. The kind that peeled his lips back against too many teeth. The kind that widened his eyes and glinted menacingly in the dark. The manic sort of smile that said, 'I win.'

"Well, then. I think we're getting somewhere now, **Toshinori**."


	3. Chapter 3

Shota scoured his fridge. There was hardly anything there. A carton of eggs, probably expired, some juice, nutrition drinks, and a plastic container of some leftover rice. He picked up one of the nutrition drinks, turning it in his hands, and looked over at Toshinori. The man didn't even have the semblance of mind to recline his chair. His head was turned to one side, his chipped fingernails digging into the armrests.

"I read about your condition once." Shota said casually as he started to search Toshinori's kitchen cabinets. "After you told the faculty about your injury, I was curious. You have to eat more often than most people. Small meals, throughout the day. And you can't have sweets or spices or anything that's too difficult to digest. Liquids are best." He pulled a carton of dried noodles out of a cabinet, shaking it. "The problem is, I've never actually seen you eat. You always go off by yourself and God only knows what you're doing." He put the noodles back and poked his head into the cabinet. There wasn't much here worth eating, either.

Toshinori remained silent, but Shota knew he could hear him. Shota found a clean glass in another cabinet and filled it with filtered water. He dropped in a few ice cubes and carried it over to Toshinori.

"Can you drink this?"

With a shaking hand, Toshinori took the glass. Shota was tempted to keep his grip on it, just in case the man spilled it, but he managed to drink from it without sloshing it all over himself. After a few meager sips, he handed the glass back, and Shota set it down on an end table in Toshinori's reach.

"Anyway, you said earlier that your painkillers are making you sick, right? So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go to the store, buy you some **real **food, and make you something soft that you can eat. You're going to eat it. And then once that's settled, you're taking your painkillers. Then you're going to call your doctor, and tell her you need to go in tomorrow and get your meds switched around. There's got to be something else they can try you on with less side effects and bad reactions." Shota looked over his shoulder at Yagi, narrowing his eyes. "You shouldn't have to be choosing between excruciating pain or puking your guts out."

"If only it were that simple. I'm on a **lot **of medication, Shota." Toshinori smiled an All Might smile and said, "It's- it's fine, though, I'm used to it. I'll just deal with it."

"You're doing it again. Stop that."

The smile vanished. Toshinori's head dipped forward, his bangs falling in front of his face.

"Admit it, Toshinori. You're miserable."

The man was silent.

Shota crossed his arms. "You think it's normal for you to suffer more than most people. For example. You cough up blood **constantly **and you expect us to just brush it off. I don't know how you manage to go about your everyday life with consistent and chronic internal bleeding. No matter how many times you do it, it's not something I've ever gotten **used **to. The other teachers are **worried **about you, all the damn time."

"It's fine-"

"It isn't fine!" Shota slammed his fist on the end table. "We **just **went through this! Stop all this goddamn **lying**!"

Finally, Toshinori relented. His hand lifted to squeeze his temples, and he heaved a breath. "Everything hurts, and I feel like I'm dying. It's a struggle to get out of bed every day. I can't stand the sight of myself. I don't… feel like a person anymore."

Shota shouldn't smile in hearing such a defeated and heartbreaking admission. But he did. The Eraserhead smile was back, cold and cruel and so _victorious _. He gave Toshinori a little pat on the shoulder, which might have come across as patronizing. "Good man, Toshinori."

He wasn't Toshinori's therapist. He wasn't here to slap a weak salve on the man's gaping wounds with meaningless words like 'I'm sorry' and 'that must be hard.' It wouldn't do him any good. He was doing himself all the good he needed, right now, in being honest. That was the only reason why Shota was still here.

He straightened and walked away from Toshinori's recliner, working on a mental list of things to buy from the nearest convenience store. He doubted they carried much, but he was sure whatever he'd find there would be more satisfying than frying up an expired egg and tossing on days-old rice.

"I'm going to run to the store. Will you be alright on your own? I'll try to make it quick."

"Yes, I'll manage."

Shota hoped he was telling the truth. He slipped out the door.

* * *

He returned twenty minutes later, in record time, carrying plastic bags full of ingredients for enough miso soup to last a week. He found Toshinori exactly where he left him. The man looked like he hadn't moved an inch. His shadowed eyes were screwed shut and his head was tilted back against the cushion of his chair.

Shota busied himself in the kitchen. Miso soup was easy to prepare, and it kept well in the fridge. He'd make enough to last Toshinori a couple of days, though he feared the man would just let it all go bad. This particular soup was white miso, and he tossed in shiitake and seaweed. He figured it would be wise to go light on the ingredients, fearing Toshinori's delicate constitution couldn't handle something too thick.

He set his phone down on the kitchen counter, playing music off of it as he worked. He liked a wide variety of genres, but he felt something relaxing would probably be better on Toshinori's ears than blasting heavy metal. He turned on a classical music playlist. The sound was a little tinny and quiet coming out of his cracked cell phone, but he didn't think Toshinori had a sound system, so he would make do.

When the soup was finally finished, he ladled a portion into a bowl and carried it to Toshinoiri with a pair of chopsticks.

"Can you manage one-handed, or am I going to have to feed this to you?"

"Please don't. I'm already humiliated enough."

Shota passed over the bowl. Toshinori grasped it with his single hand and carefully sipped at the edge of the bowl, drinking the broth. It was the solid bits Shota figured he might have trouble with. He doubted he'd be able to hold the chopsticks to scoop up the mushrooms and seaweed unless he got him to move to a table. The most he could manage was hope he could sip them up along with the broth.

Shota set a nutrition drink down on the table next to the glass of water from earlier. "Work on that, too. Get some stuff in your system. I'll get your meds for you. Where do you keep it?"

Toshinori pointed vaguely. "Cabinet. Farthest on the left."

Shota opened it, his vision greeted by a veritable sea of orange pill bottles. He picked through them, glancing over the labels. Some of them looked old, a few stray pills left behind. Toshinori needed to do some medication spring cleaning, it seemed. "So, what are you taking right now, exactly?"

Toshinori massaged his eyelids and rattled off a list of medication names, some Shota had never even heard before. When all was said and done, Shota had counted out six different pills on the counter. Antibiotics, because Toshinori was missing his spleen. He took something for anxiety- PTSD, Shota guessed. He took something to regulate his sleep cycle. He took probiotics, and something else for his digestive health. There was something that Shota didn't really know what it was for, though he guessed it was constipation. And then, the pain pills. It was a heavy opioid, a very high dose. Shota had compared it to one of the older pill bottles in his medicine cabinet, realizing the current one was far stronger.

As Shota stared at the collection of medication, an uncomfortable realization made his mouth dry.

_He's probably addicted. To opioids. And there's nothing he can do about it, because he's missing half his internal organs and lives with such severe chronic pain. He had to make a hard choice. Either be an addict, or suffer. And now that he's had his arm shattered and his body broken in a fight he logically shouldn't have survived… they have him taking something even stronger. No wonder he's so sick. He'll probably be on opioids for the rest of his life. _

_This man probably won't live to see his 60s._

Shota swallowed, but his tongue felt thick and rubbery, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He carried the pills over to Toshinori on a small plate. "Whenever you're ready. And give your doctor a call."

His voice came out softer than he anticipated.

* * *

Toshinori took all his meds, except one. Shota wasn't sure which one he skipped, or why, but he knew Toshinori had a reason, so he didn't ask. Toshinori then called his doctor, as he promised, and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow afternoon to discuss the nausea problem. Shota ate a bowl of miso soup and toasted himself a slice of bread to go with it, then settled down on Toshinori's couch.

The thing had seen better days. He felt a spring underneath the couch cushion. He could count several bloodstains. It wasn't the most comfortable place to be, but he didn't come here for a good time. Shota knew, going into this, he was in for a very long night.

He was used to night shifts. His mind was more awake when the moon went up, and his sensitive eyes hurt a little less when the light was dim. His night patrol work as a pro hero was the reason why he had such trouble staying awake in the daytime. Fortunately for Toshinori, he didn't have to patrol for a couple of days, so he could stay here all night without issue.

"Do you get all your furniture from a thrift store?" Shota found himself asking as he inspected the couch, plucking a handful of exposed stuffing out of a hole on the backrest.

"Yeah." Toshinori replied.

"Aren't you supposed to be stupid rich?"

"I give away most of my income. To charity. Long story short." Toshinori's voice was clipped as he spoke between breaths.

Shota didn't know that. But it made sense, knowing what sort of person Toshinori was. The wrong kind of hero would have flaunted that fact. He rolled his shoulders and settled his back against the couch, crossing an ankle over his knee and checking messages on his phone.

He had a text, from Mic.

_/Present Mic: hey eraser, hows AM?/_

He replied: _/pretty bad off. im staying the night with him. Probably tomorrow too. i'll let nezu know. think you can fill in for my class?/_

Present Mic was notoriously fast at responding to texts. Shota wasn't surprised when he felt his phone vibrate about 30 seconds later.

_/Present Mic: itll be hard to keep doing this on short notice, but i'll try. class today was a total disaster lol/_

Shota replied:_ /what happened/_

_/Present Mic: i tried to follow AM's notes but they were nothing but typos and shorthand and i couldn't understand it. so i made something up, and it was stupid and all the kids hated it. except iida. he seemed pretty enthusiastic/_

Shota replied: _/it's tenya iida. he's enthusiastic about everything./_

_/Present Mic: well all the kids were worried about AM, so let him know? midoriya especially. he wanted to come visit him/_

Shota replied:_ /i'll ask him if he wants midoriya here. he might just want to be left alone, though/_

_/Present Mic: sure thing. btw, thanks for noticing earlier that i was kind of freaking out. i feel bad. but i might have jumped out the window if AM was in the room for another 2 seconds haha/_

Shota replied: _/sure, i understand/_

_/Present Mic: well make sure the big guy knows i care, ok?/_

Shota replied:_ /i'll tell him/_

Present Mic concluded the conversation with a thumbs-up emoji.

Shota put away his phone, looking over at Toshinori. He was wincing a little less, the tension in his skeletal frame a little looser. For the time being, it seemed he was in a little less pain. Though it was only a matter of time before he might get sick again. Shota hoped, though, that this time would be different.

"You need a shower, by the way. You smell like death." Shota commented. "Still have blood and puke all over you."

"Y...yeah. I want a shower. It's just. A bit hard to get in and out. With my cast."

"Is a bath easier?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a cast cover?"

"No, I just use a garbage bag and duct tape."

Shota pushed himself up from the uncomfortable couch and made his way into Yagi's bathroom. It looked about how he expected. The mirror needed to be cleaned. There were more bloodstains, in the sink and on the counter. Clothes were strewn on the floor. With a grimace, he kicked a slacks-and-underwear combo off to the side. The bathtub itself could probably use a good bleach-and-scrubbing, but Shota didn't have time for any of that.

He plugged it and started the water, feeling his hand under the stream until it reached a good temperature. Hot, but not scalding. He let it run, wandering back into the living room to find Toshinori looking a little antsy.

"H-how long are you staying, Shota? Not- not that I'm complaining, I just... ah. I'm surprised you're still here."

"All night."

Toshinori looked embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "You're, uh. You're not planning on helping me into the tub, are you?"

"I will if you need it." Shota replied, leaning his weight on one leg, his knuckles on his hip.

Toshinori rubbed at his face. Despite being so ill, his pallid, sunken cheeks still turned scarlet.

"You wouldn't be the first naked man I've seen, so get over it." Shota shrugged.

Toshinori coughed thickly, the wet sound rattling in his throat. "My meds are kicking in. So I should be able to walk around on my own. And get in and out of the tub. So I should be alright."

"Well, I'll be standing by, then. I expect you to yell at me if you need help." Shota replied, his tone level. The idea of stripping the ex-number 1 hero butt-naked and shoving him into a bathtub wasn't an _appealing _prospect, but Shota didn't find it as embarrassing or humiliating as Toshinori seemed to. Embarrassment over it was irrational. A body was a body.

"I'll get something for your cast. And a change of clothes. Anything you prefer?"

"Just… a t-shirt and sweatpants. Should be something in my dresser."

Shota wandered through his apartment, finding his way into the man's bedroom. He didn't expect to find anything shocking in here. Toshinori didn't seem the type to keep any skeletons in his closet. The only thing he could see poking out of the man's disorganized closet was the shredded remains of his Golden Age hero uniform. He hadn't gotten it repaired.  
_  
__He's got an entire wardrobe of things he can't fit into anymore, not even for a little while. Should get Midnight and Mic to take him shopping, some time._

Shota dug through his dresser drawers, finding a pair of boxers, some gray sweatpants, and an oversized white t-shirt. He carried his cargo to the bathroom and set it all on the countertop, before returning to the kitchen to look for garbage bags and tape. Searching the logical places it could be, it wasn't hard to find the stuff.

Before too long, he was gingerly wrapping up Toshinori's cast, trying to waterproof it the best he could. He helped the man out of his chair. He offered his shoulder while Toshinori dragged himself to the bathroom.

Shota left him standing there once he had the counter to use for leverage, then backed out of the room.

"Leave the door cracked. Don't you dare lock it," Shota warned. "If I hear you collapse or start choking, I'm barging in."

"Understood." Toshinori replied. He coughed into his hand. "Thank you."

Shota nodded, moving the door so that it was just barely open, with only a sliver of light visible from the other side. He returned to the couch. A few minutes later, he heard the toilet flush, and longer still, he heard water sloshing- likely Toshinori managed to slide himself into the tub without incident. Shota allowed himself a moment to relax, taking his phone out of his pocket to catch up on the news.

He hadn't really checked any news websites or watched any interviews in days. It was all the same stuff, over and over and over on endless loop. The Symbol of Peace, gone. Hero society, falling apart. Villains getting bold. Endeavor being unfit for the role of #1.

He didn't know what possessed him to open up a video of Toshinori's most recent interview. He hadn't actually watched a single one, just heard anecdotal details from other people who discussed it around campus. But he wanted to see, with his own eyes, what it was like for Toshinori to endure an interview.

He wanted to know just what breed of villain the man was up against now.

_"Thank you for tuning in. We have with us today a special guest, Mr. Toshinori Yagi. That name might not be familiar to you. His alter-ego was none other than the pro hero All Might, who has protected this nation for nearly 30 years. He recently announced his retirement after his shocking battle with a powerful villain that completely destroyed the Kamino district. It is thanks to All Might's sacrifice that the villain was stopped there, and prevented from wreaking havoc across all of Japan. Mr. Yagi, thank you for joining us."_

_"Thank you for having me." _

_"Mr. Yagi, our viewers are curious, was that villain's quirk responsible for stripping you of your powers during your battle?" _

_"No. I was overwhelmed and my quirk was exhausted. My power operated on a time limit." _

_"So your physical appearance, as it is now, is this your real body? And the All Might the world knew and loved was merely a result of your quirk, which you could only enable for a limited amount of time?" _

_"Yes." _

_"Are you willing to elaborate on the nature of your quirk?" _

_"Not at this time." _

_"We respect that. Moving on: some of our viewers feel deceived that they never saw the 'real you' until your decisive battle. Why did you hide this from the general public?" _

_"I wanted the world to have faith in me as a pillar of peace and justice. This body does not inspire confidence."_

_"Unfortunately, Mr. Yagi, that future you feared has come to pass. Your true from has been exposed, your time limit is up, and citizens around the world are afraid. Some of our viewers feel that if you were forthright about your condition from the start, society would have had more time to prepare for your inevitable retirement." _

_"I recognize this, yes. I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to all the people of the world that I failed to save due to my negligence." _

_"Is it negligence, Mr. Yagi, or hubris?"_

_"The path I chose requires confidence and self-respect. I decided when I was very young that I wanted to become a role model to society. I wanted to shine a light on this world, rather than breed despair. I simply wanted to give people hope and happiness. That is all I wanted. I do not view it as hubris." __  
_

_"And yet, your desire to become this unshakable pillar has made society overly reliant on you and the peace you brought. You crashed down without warning, and we had no time to prepare for your absence. Villainy and crime is flooding in, now that the dam All Might created has shattered."_

_"Words cannot express how much I grieve over this fact. I can only hope and pray that the heroes we have today, and the next generation that we are raising for tomorrow, will be able to rebuild what I have broken." _  
_  
__"Thank you. One last question: you have made it clear that you intend to continue your tenure at U.A, despite many people believing that you are the catalyst of the school's problems throughout the course of the semester. Without your powers, you are even less capable of protecting the school should villains take advantage of your weakened state. What is your plan to ensure the continued safety of U.A. and its students and faculty?"_

_"There is nothing to be gained from killing me anymore. The Symbol of Peace is dead. I do not think U.A. will continue to be targeted because of my presence there. In the event that danger should befall the school again, I have complete confidence in my colleagues, and my students, to protect themselves and each other. U.A. is bringing up the next generation of our society's heroes. They would not be there if they couldn't handle danger." _

_"Are there any final comments that you would like to make concerning U.A.?" _

_"I love my students. This generation is one of the finest I have ever seen. It is an honor guide them. I will remain at U.A. until there is nothing more that I can teach."_

_"Any final comments you would like to make to our viewers?" _

_"Thank you for allowing me to serve you for these past 30 years. It has been an honor and a privilege." _

Shota stared at the image of the fallen hero on his phone's screen and felt his teeth clench. Toshinori was sagging, formal clothes hanging loose from his bones, eyes shadowed vessels of a broken spirit. Every question the reporter asked him seemed to drive him deeper inside himself, until Shota was watching a husk, not a person.

He clicked off the screen and tilted his head back, massaging his unshaven jaw. His hand came to rest on the sandpapery texture on his cheek, fingers cupping across his face. The more he thought about Toshinori, the more tangled up his insides felt. He once thought he knew how he felt about the man, but he didn't know anything anymore.

One thing was certain: Toshinori was probably not ever going to recover if he kept going to these interviews. He probably thought it was his civic duty to accept every single request for comment that he got from every single news publication that existed. It wasn't doing his poor health any favors.

_Is there anything I can do about this?_

Shota leaned forward, the couch creaking as his weight shifted. His elbows dug into his thighs, pressing into the black fabric of his jeans as he lowered his chin into his hands. As his mind worked through a solution, he sighed deeply and raked his calloused fingers through his long, black hair, pulling it back over his shoulders.

He had an idea, and he hated it.


	4. Chapter 4

_/hey, Mic/_

A minute and a half passed before his phone pinged.

_/Present Mic: whats up/_

Shota replied, _/have you done a segment on all mights retirement yet? on your radio show?/_

_/Present Mic: no way dog, Put Your Hands Up Radio is all music and good times. I dont do depressing things. If you actually listened to it you'd know that :P/_

Shota rolled his eyes. He typed, _/are you willing to cover all mights retirement anyway?/_

_/Present Mic: i mean i could if i really needed to? Whats this about?/_

Shota replied, _/i got a favor to ask. Your show is on fridays right? I want you to interview me about all might tomorrow. Can you work that in?/_

_/Present Mic: you? in the studio? but you hate being in the media/_

Shota replied, _/just answer the question. Will you do it or not?/_

_/Present Mic: i mean sure, yeah. Come in to the studio at 6:00 A.M. i broadcast from morning till afternoon, until my shift at U.A./_

It wouldn't be hard to make it there. Shota didn't think he'd be sleeping at all tonight. He was glad he thought to buy himself some energy drinks while he was at the store.

Shota typed, _/how many people listen to your show?/_

_/Present Mic: not as many as you'd think, but i have enough of an audience where it could make a big splash if people spread what you're talking about via word of mouth. What are you planning on saying, anyway?/_

Shota typed, _/just trust me/_

_/Present Mic: you better not be planning anything super controversial, ya dig? if you ruin my reputation, i'll broadcast that dirt i have on you, from back when we used to date :) / _

Shota groaned. _/shut up/_

Present Mic sent another message, but Shota didn't care to check it. It was probably some crass emoji like the eggplant or something. He clicked off his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. He was just about to get up and grab himself an energy drink from the fridge when he heard Toshinori's muffled voice calling from his bathroom.

"H-hey, uh… Shota?"

Shota pushed himself upright and headed down the hall to the bathroom door. He didn't peek his head inside, instead, calling from where he stood. "What's up?"

"This is… this is monumentally embarrassing, but. I can't… ah-... I'm having trouble getting out of the tub."

Shota was glad that he admitted he needed help, though he imagined this was not going to be a very pleasant experience for him. Earlier, the man was blushing like a maiden at the mere thought of being seen naked. Now, it seemed his fears were becoming reality.

Shota pushed open the door and approached the bathtub, taking in the scene that greeted him. Toshinori was startlingly, distressingly thin. Shota had always known how frail he was, but seeing him nude, it was impossible to ignore how tightly his flesh was shrink-wrapped around his bones. He was sprawled with his back pushed up against the sloped end of the tub. His haphazardly waterproofed cast was raised to rest on the edge of the tub, to keep it out of the water. His freshly washed hair stuck to his face and clung to his pallid skin. Shota glimpsed that he had placed a washcloth in his lap for some semblance of decency, but that wasn't where his eyes lingered.

It was impossible not to look at his scar on his left side, and Shota found himself staring.

It reminded him of shattered glass, like what happened when bullets struck his car's windshield. Toshinori was so thin that Shota could easily see his stark-white ribcage pushing up through his chest, and he didn't have enough ribs. The damaged part of his body was concave and far too deep, as if he was empty inside. The ravaged flesh of his scar spiderwebbed out across his chest, side, and back. His skin wasn't the right color, a bruised sort of red-purple that mottled the hills and valleys of his flesh. It wasn't the right texture, either, like his skin was grafted from other places because there wasn't enough of him left to stitch him up right.

It was like something **exploded **inside of him, blasting him apart from the inside out.

He had never seen the scar before. All he knew about Toshinori's injury was that it was bad, causing him chronic pain, and resulted in the loss of several organs. But now that Shota was looking at it, for the first time, he felt horrified.

_What sort of sick, twisted creature did this to him?_

"Pretty gross, isn't it?" Toshinori's voice snapped Shota out of his thoughts. His eyes peeled themselves away from the chaos on the man's side to his face. There was no false smile. Just a tired, worn-out grimace that showed a hint of his bottom teeth. Shota couldn't even see the blue of his eyes anymore, they were so sunken into the pits of his skull.

"How-" Shota swallowed. "How did you even live?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out, myself."

Shota could hear his own pulse in his ears. He felt hot beneath his scarf, and for once, he debated taking it off. He swallowed thickly. "Who...?"

"It was … All for One. Five years ago."

"The same villain you defeated? He did this to you?"

"Yes." Toshinori's forearm lifted out of the water, dripping, the sound too loud and echoing. He massaged at his face. "I was supposed to defeat him five years ago. But I failed. I got him this time, but… I… fear I was still too late."

Shota opened his mouth, but no words came. He had a million questions, but none of them were worth asking a man in this state. Toshinori needed to get out of this tub before he turned into a prune, and he needed to sleep. Maybe when he was in a better state, Shota could get him to talk more about his experiences with this All for One.

All things considered, despite how public and televised the battle was, and despite the high profile nature of the villain who was taken into custody, there was very little known about him. Shota suspected Toshinori knew far, far more than he was letting on. There must be a reason for all the secrecy, but Shota didn't like it.

_Toshinori will realize that the more secrets he keeps, the worse off society will be. He should have already learned that lesson. When he's ready, he'll talk. And if he doesn't, I might just have to force him._

Shota cleared his throat and refocused his mind on the present. Right now, there was a naked, sick guy who needed help out of his bathtub.

"Well, come on, then."

Shota rolled up his sleeves, bent forward, and looped his arms beneath Toshinori's frail shoulders. The man tensed, grunting as he tried to rise, but as soon as his abdomen curled, he coughed thickly and went slack. "H-having a hard time using my core muscles," he admitted in a weak breath before devolving into hideous, gut-wrenching coughs. Blood sprayed between his clenched teeth and Shota watched it spread into a mist in the clouded bathwater.

Shota grimaced and considered his options. At the angle he was standing, it was difficult to leverage Toshinori out of the bathtub.

So, he kicked off his boots and socks, rolled up his pant legs until the fabric was bunched up over his knees, and stepped into the water behind Toshinori.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Gonna pick you up."

"You could have drained the water first."

"It'll take too long."

He reached down to slip his arms beneath Toshinori's armpits, his hands gripping his sides as carefully as he could, and started to pull him upright. Despite being 7 feet tall, he was too light. Too easy to lift.

If he could get the man to stand upright without tensing his abdomen too much, then maybe he could manage to get the rest of the way out on his own. It was a bit of a bumbling mess of sloshing water and twig-thin limbs, but he managed to get Toshinori standing. Consequently, his washcloth fell, too. From his angle, Shota couldn't see much, nor did he really care to. His only goal now was to maneuver him over the walls of the tub, get him a towel, and see if he could get himself dressed without falling over.

When Toshinori was standing safely out of the tub, Shota made sure he got a grip on the bathroom counter before asking, "you got it?"

"Y-yeah. It's just- getting up from- from lying down is the hard part."

Shota released him and grabbed a towel that was hanging on a hook on the door. Toshinori snatched it from him and quickly wrapped it around his waist.

"You act like you've never been seen naked before," Shota commented, folding his arms as he watched Toshinori struggle with his cast, trying to rip the duct tape off of it one-handed.

"The last person who's seen me naked was probably my own mother. When I was still in diapers."

Shota's eyebrows shot up. Of all the surprising things he'd learned about Toshinori Yagi, _that _one probably took the cake. Shota had estimated his age around his early 50s- had he really gone his whole life without being seen naked, not even once?

"Never been with anyone?"

"No. Never really thought about it much."

"Huh." Shota squinted at him. He supposed it made sense. The Number One Hero did seem pretty much married to his work. "Ever been interested in anyone?"

His cheeks flushed a little. "Sometimes I've… entertained the idea of. Going on dates or kissing someone, but. Never really amounted to anything. I'm just too…" He trailed off, as if he couldn't find the right word for what he wanted to say. "...Nevermind, sorry, this is awkward."

Shota shrugged. "No it isn't. Go ahead and say it."

Toshinori managed to get the garbage bag off of his cast and slipped the oversized shirt over his head. If there was one good thing about that stretched-out shirt, it was easy to get his cast into the arm hole. "Well, you've seen me. I'm not exactly prime boyfriend material. And I'm not interested in, ah, sexual relationships. It's just not appealing at all. That's just how I am."

Shota got it now. "Ah. You're ace."

"Ace?"

"Asexual. Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have heard of that in this context, no."

"You should read about it some time. Research is easier to come by these days than it was in your day, I think."

Toshinori seemed thoughtful as he stood there, drumming his fingers on the bathroom countertop. Then, after a moment, he picked up the pair of boxers and said, "can you not watch me while I do this?"

Shota turned around, his back facing Toshinori. "Can you even bend over and put those on without too much trouble?"

"It's going to hurt. But I can manage."

Shota couldn't see what he was doing, but he imagined he was bending to the bare minimum, lifting his long legs one step at a time to get his boxers and pants on.

"Okay. I'm ready."

Shota turned back around and offered his shoulder for Toshinori to lean on as they made their way out of the bathroom. Freshly washed and wearing clean clothes, he finally smelled like a living human being.

Still wasn't any color in his face, though.

"Where do you want to go? Bed?"

"No. My recliner, please."

"You should sleep."

"I can't sleep in bed right now." Toshinori drew in a sharp breath. "Can't sleep on my left side. Hurts too much. And can't sleep on my right side right now, because of my arm. And I just… don't like sleeping on my back. It's uncomfortable." He gestured loosely to his recliner. "I'll be fine there. I'll sleep."

Shota trusted him. One step at a time, he helped the man walk to his recliner and let him slide back down again.

"Want me to pop it back for you?"

"No, not yet."

Shota nodded. He left Toshinori there to wander into his kitchen and retrieve his long-awaited energy drink from the fridge. He returned to the beat-up, sad little couch and leaned back, sighing. He couldn't help feeling like there was still something he needed to do, like he had forgotten something important. He popped the tab of his energy drink and slurped it, thinking.

_Let's see here… Present Mic… the radio interview… ah, Midoriya. That's it._

"Mic texted me earlier. Said that your class is worried about you. He's worried, too. Wanted me to pass along a get-well message."

"Ah… that was very kind. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank them when you can come back to school." With his free hand, Shota idly removed his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his Twitter feed. "Oh. And Mic said Midoriya wanted to come visit you. I told him I wasn't sure you'd feel up to it, so I'd ask."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a guilty sort of grimace on the man's face. "Oh." He drew in a deep, uneasy breath. "Young Midoriya is a tender-hearted boy. I'd hate for him to see me like this."

"Are you ashamed?"

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't be. I can understand wanting privacy and keeping things low-key, but if you decline because you're ashamed to be seen in this state, I think that's a bad reason." Shota stopped scrolling when he saw a funny cat video. "That boy's obsessed with you. I doubt he thinks any less of you, now that you're like this."

Shota hoped his words were reassuring, but nothing changed on Toshinori's face. There was clearly something else on his mind, but he wasn't talking about it.

_Well, the crowbar approach can only get me so far. I'll leave him alone._

Shota lost himself down a rabbit trail of cat videos. As he thumbed through Twitter, he repositioned, lying lengthwise on Toshinori's couch. Every once in a while, he glanced over to the man in his recliner. Minutes ticked by, and nothing changed. Toshinori wasn't doing anything. He didn't even seem to be trying to sleep. He just sat there giving the wall in front of him a thousand-yard stare.

"You need a TV or something. Didn't you say once that you liked movies?"

"I only like movies if I can watch them with someone."

"Guess you don't have many guests over, do you?"

Toshinori huffed a sound that Shota guessed was supposed to be a laugh, if it wasn't for the fact that it sounded so soulless and empty.

"Don't you have something you can do on your phone? Netflix?"

"I'm not subscribed to anything like that. Never had the time."

"Well, you're retired now. Might as well do something for entertainment. What do you do for fun, anyway?"

"I like to go on hikes. Sometimes I take trips out to Yakushima, to see the cedars. I like parks. And nature." Toshinori dipped his head into a hand, rubbing at his forehead. His breathing was getting a little heavier. Shota knew that look, the twinge of nausea that tightened his brows. "Since I lost a lung, it's… harder for me to go on long hikes. I get breathless. And exhausted."

_Poor guy. Robbed of his favorite hobby, too._

He didn't feel right just leaving the topic there. Toshinori was starting to look ill, and the sight of him doing nothing but stare at the off-white paint on the wall was depressing. Shota felt the wisest thing to do would be to provide a distraction. "Well, here. I found some funny cat videos. I'll text them to you. Do you have your phone on you?"

"I, ah. Forgot to take it out of my pants pocket. In the bathroom."

Shota got up to retrieve it, feeling a little odd to be picking up the man's clothes and digging through his pockets. The cell phone came out with a bit of loose change. He returned to pass the red phone over to Toshinori, who grasped at it weakly with his free hand.

Shota texted him the cat videos and settled back onto the couch. Every once in a while, he could hear the audio from Toshinori's phone, proving that he was at least opening the links and watching them, but he never laughed, even at the funniest ones.

_Probably a good thing_, Shota thought. _Wonder if he'd just hurt himself if he did._

"Wonder how Fearless is doing," Shota muttered aloud as he scrolled through Twitter, searching for more ammunition to send Toshinori's way.

"Who's Fearless?"

"Oh. Sorry. The cat I hit earlier. Named her Fearless."

"Oh. That's a good name."

"If you end up adopting her, are you going to rename her?"

"No. I'm keeping it. I like it." Toshinori paused. "Any reason why you called her that?"

Shota felt his cheeks heat up, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He tugged at his gray scarf. "It takes a strong sort of creature to get the shit beat out of it but still get up again. So I named her Fearless for good luck."

It was only half true. What he really wanted to say was, '_I named her Fearless after you.'_

For a while after that, neither of them talked. Occasionally Shota would send Toshinori links to things he saw online, hoping to keep his mind from drifting to dark places. The evening dwindled until the last of the sunlight retreated from a darkening sky. With his energy drink and the comfort of night sinking into him, Shota got a second wind. He pushed himself up from the couch and padded bare-footed into Toshinori's kitchen to start doing dishes and wiping down countertops. He started playing classical music off of his phone again.

He didn't know if it was a side-effect of his quirk, but Shota had no trouble seeing in the dark. All he needed was a little bit of moonlight, or dim street lamps, or light bleeding between the cracks of doors and window blinds. So even as all the lights in Toshinori's apartment were off, the orange glow of street lamps filtering through his windows made his surroundings clear as day.

He wouldn't stop scrubbing the countertops until he could see his reflection in it. Once that was done, he planned on taking a little break before getting rid of all the trash bags that had accumulated in Toshinori's entry hall.

"Shota."

Toshinori was twisted a little in his chair, his bone-thin fingers grasping around his mouth and chin. He was breathing heavily, in and out through his nose, and it sounded wet and thick in his chest. In the dim light, his face was so drained of color it looked gray-green.

"C-can you-" Toshinori swallowed. "Trash can."

Shota snatched the poor, abused trash can where he had left it near the doorway, hurrying to the side of the man's chair. Toshinori was pushing himself up with shaking, spindly arms, straightening his spine, the recliner rocking forward a little. Shota shoved the trash can into his lap.

Toshinori snagged the edge of it, white-knuckled, his shoulders heaving up and down as he breathed. He bent forward, jaw slack.

_It's going to be very inconvenient if he gets puke in his hair again. It was a bit of a pain getting him in and out of the tub. _Shota thought as he slipped his hand up against Toshinori's moist forehead, pulling back the man's weird bangs and pressing his hand heavily to the top of his head to hold his hair in place. _Wonder if he's ever going to get a haircut now. He only has his bangs like this because he had them styled to perk up in his hero form. It was his trademark. _

Toshinori lurched and gagged, fluid rushing up his throat. He vomited heavily into the trash can. Shota's free hand pressed to his upper back, hoping to provide a comforting weight as he watched the poor guy bring up a nauseating concoxion of miso soup, protein shake, bile and blood. He coughed and choked. Between his retching heaves, he sounded like he was having a hard time filling his lung with a single, solid breath.

"Easy, easy." Shota said, his hand rubbing over the tense and knotted muscles on his back. He could feel the bony ridges of his spine sticking through his shirt. Toshinori's shoulders went rigid and shook less as he stiffened, and Shota realized he was holding his breath. Shota looked over at his face, at the tendrils of spit that hung from his lips. His throat was locked in a swallow. He was trying not to cough.

"Let it out, Toshinori. Breathe."

He stopped holding his breath and immediately vomited again. The coughing fit that followed was wretched. There was more blood than bile. Shota's palm smacked lightly on his back, on the right side.

"You'll get through this. Just gotta get it all out. I know it hurts."

In truth, Shota was genuinely worried that the man might die. It was a lot of blood. And he had no idea how long he was going to be sick. He didn't know how much of that food managed to digest, and he hadn't had enough fluids.

As he listened to the man dry heaving and spitting at stubborn threads of bile, he realized it was getting harder not to care. Earlier today, Shota felt completely unwilling to nurture this guy, hold his hair and rub his back. But now, he couldn't, in good conscious, just leave him to it.

How things changed, in just one day.

It felt like an eternity passed before Toshinori managed to breathe again without coughing or retching. He was shivering violently. Shota took the trash can from him and set it down on the floor near his recliner.

"I'll be right back. Two seconds."

He went to grab some paper towels from his kitchen. Toshinori was so weak and tired, he didn't seem to have the strength to even wipe his mouth. He hadn't even said anything. His eyes were closed.

So Shota pressed the paper towels to his lips and chin, drying it off for him. He tossed it in the trash can, then grabbed the glass of water and held it up to him, pressing the rim of the glass to his mouth.

"You gotta drink this."

Toshinori didn't even acknowledge him, so Shota tilted the glass back until the water started to spill from the corners of his mouth. That, at least, finally got him to start drinking it. He only managed a few swallows before Shota was forced to set the glass aside again.

Was he going to be like this all night?

Shota stood there, watching him, feeling conflicted. He wanted to do something, say something, but he didn't know what. He didn't feel right just leaving Toshinori and sitting back on the couch to ignore what just happened.

As he battled over what to say, Toshinori spoke instead.

"Thank you."

Shota's chest felt tight, heavy. "Yeah. It's fine." He found himself saying. It wasn't what he wanted to say. But he didn't know how to put it to words. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Do you need anything?"

Toshinori shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible.

Shota looked around the room, noticing the plate with the single pill that Toshinori failed to take. Shota picked it up.

"This pill. Why didn't you take it?"

"For sleep. Wasn't ready to sleep yet."

"You want to take it now?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Nightmares."

"You gotta sleep, Toshinori."

"Yeah. I know."

"Go ahead and take it. See if it stays down. And sleep. I'll be here."

Toshinori swallowed thickly and nodded. Shota took his hand and pressed the pill into his palm. Once he had it in his mouth, he gave him his glass of water again. At least he took more than a few sips, this time.

"I'll be on your couch. I won't be asleep. So if you need me, just say it. You won't be waking me or anything."

Toshinori nodded.

Shota started to leave, but he felt Toshinori's hand snag his own before he walked away.

"Wait."

Shota looked at him.

"Shota. Are we friends?"

Shota swallowed. His eyes stung. "Yeah."


	5. Chapter 5

Toshinori was only asleep for two hours before he woke, abruptly and suddenly, to vomit again. Shota was there, just as he was before, just as he promised.

Shota was, after all, not a liar.

He made Toshinori drink an entire glass of water- no matter how hard it was for him to get it all down. He made him drink another nutrition shake, even though it might just come up again later. He told him if he didn't do it, Shota was taking him to the ER to get plugged into IVs- and Toshinori made it very clear that he would rather not see another hospital bed for the rest of his life. Shota decided to bank on the hope that Toshinori wasn't critically sick and at imminent risk of keeling over. He hoped he was making the right decision.

When Toshinori finally fell asleep again- or at least closed his eyes and reclined his chair- Shota busied himself around his dump of an apartment. He took out the trash. He scrubbed all the bloodstains off the bathroom counters. He cleaned the mirror. He sprayed down the tub and shower walls, working at it until it was white and shining. He even cleaned the toilet.

He gathered up all of Toshinori's laundry into a beat-up hamper that he found shoved into a hall closet. It was plastic and missing both handles, so it was hard to carry around once it was full, but Shota dealt with it. He made a mental note to take it down to a laundromat tomorrow at some point, perhaps after Toshinori's afternoon doctor's appointment.

While he was quietly dusting off a small end table in the entry hall with a rag, he heard Toshinori calling for him from his living room, sounding more like a ghost than a person.

"Shota."

Shota was starting to find the sound of Toshinori's voice unnerving. Hearing his own name from the lips of a half-dead man suddenly bothered him, and he wasn't entirely sure why. He dropped what he was doing, padding into the room to stand over his recliner. His eyes were still closed, his arms crossed against his chest, shivering. Shota could see beads of sweat glistening on his face.

"You want a blanket?"

"No. Not cold."

Shota nodded. "What's up?"

"Can you… play that music again. The classical stuff." He spoke between strained breaths. "I liked it. Was calming."

Shota dug his phone out of his pocket. It had 12% battery. Probably not enough to play music for the rest of the night.

"Not sure. Phone's about to die. What kind of charger do you have?"

Toshinori pointed vaguely with his thumb over his shoulder. "Check my room."

Shota slipped into the man's bedroom to search for his phone charger, which was plugged into the wall near a rickety-looking bedside table. Shota hadn't bothered giving his bedroom as deep of a cleaning as the rest of the place- it felt a little more invasive to be in here. All he did was pick up all the laundry off of the floor. Shota checked the charger port, relieved to find that it was the right one for his phone. He unplugged the charger from the wall to find a more central place to put it in the living room. He found a wall outlet near enough to Toshinori's recliner where he could set his phone on the charger and place it on the end table in Toshinori's reach.

He started the playlist. He adjusted the volume- audible, but not blasting- and sat himself down on the couch. He couldn't think of anything else to do with Toshinori's apartment. It was 2 AM.

_Four hours left. _

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Toshinori asked.

"Go for it."

"What made you want to be a hero?"

Shota wasn't expecting him to ask something like that. He rubbed at his stubble-darkened chin. He could have just given him a short, curt non-answer and avoid the trouble of getting too deep into his past. But he figured Toshinori just wanted to hear him talk, to help fill the silence of his apartment with something mind-numbing.  
_  
I'll give him the courtesy of a real answer. _

"I was born in a slum and my parents didn't want me. I was put into foster care, and the conditions weren't good. When I was six years old, and my quirk manifested, I was stolen by villains who wanted to exploit my unique power. Since I didn't really belong to anyone, no one cared to save me.

"The villains who took me had a history of abducting children, though. When they abducted a schoolchild with parents who actually cared, it led to a search-and-rescue mission. The police and local heroes were able to bust the villain's operation, and I was rescued, along with the twelve other children I lived with. I was ten.

"That was the day I decided to become a hero. So I could bring justice to criminals and save children. Preventing children from going through what I experienced is my goal. And I am a teacher, because I want to bring up those with the power to do similarly." Shota rolled his aching shoulders. "I know the kids often think me cruel. But the world is harsh, and I want to prepare them. A hero can't save anyone if they're not prepared to face that reality."

He hesitated a moment, to see if Toshinori would comment, but he didn't speak. Shota looked over at the man, wondering if he was even awake.

_Well, if he slept through that story, at least he won't remember what I said._

"You were… you were kidnapped? For four years?" Toshinori breathed, after a few heartbeats of silence. Though his eyes were still closed, Shota could see the muscles in his jaw were taut with anger and pain.

Shota looked away from him. "Yeah."

"I had no idea. That's… that's horrible."

"I don't like to talk about it. So I'd prefer if you didn't ask me any more questions about it."

"Of course. Just… if. If you ever need to talk about it, Shota, I'll listen."

Shota felt his heart twist. If it had been anyone else saying that, he might have snapped at them. But he knew Toshinori meant well. "I'll… keep that in mind." He said, politely, with no intention of ever following through.

For a while, all Shota could hear was the tinny sound of classical music flowing from his phone. Then, Toshinori spoke again.

"Do you mind if I ask something else?"

"Go for it."

"What do you do for fun?"

"Sleep." Shota replied, a half-grin twitching on his mouth.

"Come on, I'm serious," Toshinori urged.

Shota huffed a single-syllable chuckle. "I like reading. And if I have the time to, I volunteer at the animal shelter. It's hard to these days, between hero work and school."

"Maybe I could do that some time. Uh. Animal shelter."

"They can always use the help. I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

Beethoven's 9th symphony serenaded them, and Shota found his mind drifting. He went to the fridge to get another energy drink. On his way into the kitchen, he saw the time on Toshinori's microwave.

3 AM.

He sat back down, looking over at Toshinori, wondering if he was asleep.

"I heard a rumor… that you and Hizashi were a thing?"

Shota nearly spat out his energy drink all over Toshinori's couch. Not that it would have made the damn thing any worse. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ah- sorry. Nemuri."

"Of course she would." Shota groaned, rubbing at his eyes, the pressure of his fingertips making them ache. "We went on _two _dates. Years ago. _Two_. The first time, we were drunk. The second, we were _really _drunk." Shota took a sip from his energy drink, for too long, while he tried to think. "We're not compatible at all. We're better off as friends. It was awkward for a little while, but we got over it." He set his drink down on the end table with an audible thunk and crossed his arms against his chest.

"Yes, he seems a little too high-energy for you."

"He's a little too _everything _for me."

Mozart's Requiem came and went. Chopin's Nocturne. Brahms Piano Quartet No. 1.

_Toshinori wouldn't be too everything, _Shota found himself thinking.

Then, he found a tiny box in his head. He shoved the thought inside that tiny box. He locked it with a thousand different keys. He dug a little pit, and threw it inside, and buried it until there was no trace of it anymore.

Shota was, after all, a liar.

* * *

When 5:30 finally arrived, Shota realized that Toshinori was finally asleep. Although this pleased Shota immensely, he realized he didn't know what to do now. He didn't want to wake him. He had to go out the door right now to make it to Present Mic's radio studio, but he didn't want to leave without telling Toshinori where he was going. Plus, if there was some kind of emergency, and he wasn't here to help him, things could be bad.

_I could just text him, but his phone is probably dead, and I'm not sure where he put it. I could write him a note on something and leave it where he'd see it, but that still doesn't solve the problem that I'll be leaving him alone for a few hours. _

Shota drummed his fingers on his knee, thinking through his options. An idea struck him, but he wasn't sure Toshinori would be pleased with it.

_I was operating on the assumption that he'd be awake right now, so I didn't plan ahead. Waking him up isn't an option. He needs to get as much sleep as possible, and if I wake him now, he might not get back to sleep again._

Shota took his phone off the charger. As quietly as he possibly could, he opened the front door and stepped outside into the chilly morning air.

He opened his contacts, and selected Izuku Midoriya.

_This is probably the strangest thing I've ever done. Calling my own student at 5:30 in the morning. There's a chance he won't even pick up._

To his surprise, two rings later, there was an answer.

"Hello?" He heard Midoriya's groggy voice.

"Sorry for calling you like this, Midoriya. I have a favor to ask."

"Um… s-sure, Mr. Aizawa… what's up?" He sounded apprehensive.

"Present Mic told me yesterday that you wanted to visit Mr. Yagi. You still want to do that?"

"Y-yes, of course! Is, uh, is something wrong?"

"I've been looking after him, but I have to step out for a few hours. I need someone to take over for me. I don't think he'd mind you being here, which is why you're the first one I thought to contact."

Shota was sure there were better options out there than Izuku Midoriya, but he simply didn't know Toshinori well enough to know who else he liked and trusted. He could tell from Day 1 that he played favorites with Izuku, and he assumed that the two already knew each other off campus. Shota had observed Toshinori to express a very paternal attitude towards all of U.A's students, but with Midoriya especially, he was particularly fatherly.

"Where is he? What do I need to do?" Midoriya asked.

"I'll be frank, Midoriya. He's in bad shape. All I need you to do is make sure he doesn't get worse. If he wakes up while you're here, just make sure he eats and takes his meds. If we're lucky, you won't even have to do anything. I'll try to come back as soon as I can. I'll text you his address."

"O-okay. I'll be there."

"I'll see you." Shota ended the call, and texted the address to the kid, as promised. When he put his phone away, Shota massaged at his face and groaned.

_I'm absolutely __**full **__of terrible ideas today. I can't believe I'm doing this. Just. All of this. Shit. It shouldn't be Midoriya's responsibility to look after his own teacher. I should have called one of the other teachers. Still, there's just. Something about that kid. My instinct tells me that this is the right call, even if… it's not logical._

Shota clenched his fist. What was wrong with him? He spends a day with Toshinori Yagi and suddenly he's no longer sure of himself. Behaving irrationally. Thinking irrational things.

Midoriya needed a fifteen minute commute, but he arrived as promised. He was wearing a baggy All Might hoodie and jogging pants, his mop of dark hair an uncombed mess. Aizawa nodded to him when he rushed up the metal stairwell and stopped, breathless, by the door.

"Morning, Mr. Aizawa!" He said cheerfully, though there was worry in his big green eyes.

"Thanks for coming." Shota carefully opened the door for him, and they both stepped inside.

Shota kept his voice very low, patting Midoriya on the shoulder. From their vantage point in the entry hall, they could see Toshinori reclined in his chair, motionless, dead to the world. "Try not to wake him up." Shota whispered. "I'll try to be back soon, three hours tops." Just in time for him to rush off to school, he hoped.

"Right." Midoriya replied in a whisper.

Shota slipped away.

* * *

In all the years he'd known Hizashi Yamada, Shota had never once stepped foot in the studio where he recorded his stupid radio show.

It was smaller than he expected. The studio was used to record a lot of different radio shows, so it wasn't as if Present Mic owned the place. He made good use of the time he had with it, broadcasting music and interviews with people in the entertainment industry, or occasionally, other heroes.

Shota felt extremely out of place here. What was worse, now that he was out in public, he became distinctly aware of the fact that he hadn't showered or changed. It hadn't been a priority while he was taking care of Toshinori, but now, he found himself wishing he at least washed himself off, even if he had to put his old clothes back on.

There was nothing he could do about it, now. Before he knew it, he found himself sitting in the recording booth across from Present Mic, just minutes before they were about to go on air. They hadn't had any time to prep, or discuss anything.

"You're cutting it really close, Eraserhead. You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"At least give me something to work with here! I don't know what to do for an intro."

"I'm going to talk about All Might's retirement."

"Yeah, I got that much. Just, what, exactly?"

"I just want you to give me fifteen minutes of airtime to talk about it."

"Do you want me to ask you anything? Specific questions? Like, an interview?"

"No, just let me talk."

"So you want to just… talk? Do you have a script, dude?"

"No."

"You're going unscripted!?"

"I know what I want to say."

Present Mic groaned, dragging his palm dramatically down his face, pulling down his eyelids and lips. "This is going to be a total disaster! And then I'm gonna have to air out your dirty laundry! You realize I'm serious about that, right!?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Their time was up. They were live. Present Mic cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone, slipping into his favorite act as the Voice Hero. Loud, chipper, boisterous, he boomed into the microphone.

"Goooooood morning listeners! It's time for Put Your Hands Up radio, bringin' you the freshest jams to liven up your morning commute!" Present Mic hit a button. A little jingle played. "But before we get into our scheduled program, we've got a special guest in the studio today! He's bringing us an exclusive, behind-the-scenes perspective on All Might's recent retirement! Yeah, we know everybody and their dog's already got some hot takes on it! But don't touch that dial, listeners! We promise: you! Don't! Want! To! Miss! This!" Another button, another jingle, a strange whooshing sound.

"So! Why don't you introduce yourself for us, sir!?"

"My name is Shota Aizawa. I'm the pro hero, Eraserhead."

"Wow, THE Eraserhead! So, what is it you want the world to know!?"

Shota cleared his throat. He didn't need a script for this. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He knew how he wanted to say it. He had all night to think about it.

"Last night, I saw Mr. Yagi's battlescars. You see, I've been taking care of him because he's ill. For the first time in my life, I've seen what the man has to put up with every day, even though I've known of him for years. He's just been very, very good at hiding it.

"Do you people have any idea what his scar looks like? Well, imagine somebody set off a bomb in your stomach that shredded your insides and scattered them into a million pieces. And now imagine a bunch of surgeons scouring Ground Zero, picking through what's left of you and putting you together the best they can like a puzzle that's missing a lot of pieces. That's Mr. Toshinori Yagi.

I've watched him cough up gallons of blood. I've seen him curled up in a fetal position on the couch in the teacher's lounge when he thought no one was looking. He rarely eats or sleeps. His apartment is trash, he looks like he's gone dumpster diving for all his furniture, because he gave all his income from his hero work to charity. His kitchen cabinet is a forest of prescription drugs. And yet... he still comes to school, every day, to tenderly encourage our bright-eyed youth.

"He's not the best teacher. He's got no experience. He needs to read a script. He fumbles. He forgets the points he's trying to make. He's complete garbage at discipline. He doesn't know how to be firm, or give out bad grades. But he loves these kids. And they love him. Because he cares.

"And because he cares, he's sacrificed. If you think that fight in the Kamino district was his only sacrifice, you're dead wrong. Every day he's lived is a sacrifice. He's shielded the world from the truth because he cares, because he didn't want anyone to worry about their Number One Hero. He didn't want anyone to see that he was sick and falling apart. He endured paralyzing fear and isolation so that you could live in peace and comfort. He's done what he did out of love for the world, regardless of how imperfect it was.

"So please. For the love of God. Leave him alone. Stop swarming him in the streets. Stop shoving cameras in his face. Stop asking him to come be a guest on your goddamn talk shows just so you can ask him the same questions over and over again. He's put up with it because he still has the heart of a civil servant and the dignity of a real hero. But I can't watch him go through this anymore. I ask you, as his colleague and his friend, to stop. Just. Stop. All Might is dead. Show him a shred of respect, and let him rest."

It was as if a black hole opened up and sucked all the sound out of the recording booth. Present Mic was, for once in his life, at a loss of words. His jaw was slack, and he was staring vacantly from behind his orange-tinted sunglasses. For a few moments, there was nothing but dead air.

Then, he leaned forward, turned on his mic, and spoke. His voice was empty of its usual life, entirely out of character, and very soft.

"That's all we have for today, listeners. Next Friday, we'll return to our regularly scheduled broadcast."


	6. Chapter 6

"I knew it'd be a disaster. But that was a _special _kind of disaster, dude."

"It had to be done."

"No it didn't! That stuff was _super_ private, dude! Did he even give you permission?'

"No."

"Holy shit, Eraser."

"It'll get the media off his ass. They're vultures circling his dying body. The stress was killing him faster. It was the only way I could think of to solve this problem."

"The **only way**? Really? If we just put our heads together and thought about it we could have come up with a less invasive strategy, don't you think?! Seriously, what is with you? You of all people should know better!"

"I stand by it."

"You know what? I really **am** going to expose you next Friday."

"Do it. I don't care."

"You better go talk to him and come clean before he finds out the hard way. Get outta here, Eraser. I gotta do damage control now. Shit, the calls are gonna start flooding in…"

* * *

When Shota returned to Toshinori's apartment, he found Midoriya sitting on the couch with his phone in his lap, a twisted-up, uncomfortable look on his freckled face. Toshinori was sitting upright, the back of his recliner raised, massaging his face. Behind his hand, Shota couldn't see his expression. He wondered if they looked uncomfortable because he asked Midoriya to come here without Toshinori's knowledge.

"Midoriya. Yagi." Shota nodded to them, his tone level. "How's it going?"

"Um! Uh! Everything's fine!" Midoriya's voice was an octave higher than it usually was.

"When did he wake up?"

"Um, about an hour ago."

Shota checked the time on his phone. It was 8:15. The radio incident happened at 7. A chilling thought occurred to Shota. Could he have listened to Mic's show? Shota swallowed thickly, putting his phone away and looking to Toshinori.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." His tone was curt.

Shota pressed his lips together, thinking. He looked to Midoriya. "Thanks for helping me, Midoriya. Head on to school. If anyone gets on to you because you're late, tell them I've excused you."

Midoriya shot up to his feet faster than Shota could blink. "Right! Um. Have a good day, Mr. Aizawa! All Might!" He waved and excused himself from the scene all too quickly.

When he closed the door, an uncomfortable silence lingered. Shota stood motionless in the living room. Yagi's face was still in his hands. He hadn't looked up, not once.

"So… Midoriya is a big fan of _Put Your Hands Up_. He's listened to it religiously, every Friday morning, for the past six years. Without missing a single broadcast."

Shota swallowed. He didn't respond.

"Shota." Toshinori peeled his hands away from his face, his shadowed blue eyes meeting Shota's own. "We need to talk."

"Yeah. We do."

"I… I don't even know where to begin. I feel betrayed. I'm angry. And I'm worried about the public perception of me now. Or how this is going to affect how people treat me. The other teachers and the students, especially. I feel like I won't be able to show my face in public anymore. It hurts that you went behind my back like this."

"I wanted the media off your ass. It was killing you."

"I understand that, Shota. And there is some part of me that's… grateful. I. I do know you meant well. Some of the things you said. I… appreciated it. But that's just. Completely overshadowed by this betrayal. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, I understand."

"I just. I thought we were friends."

"We are. That's why I did this."

"I feel like I can't trust you now. You wanted me to stop lying to you and be honest with what I'm going through. Then you took that and literally broadcast it to thousands of strangers."

"How can I make it up to you?"

"I… I don't know."

"I don't expect to earn back your trust. I went into it knowing I would face consequences. I knew on some level it would hurt you. But I know you can't keep going the way you've been. You've been trying to maintain the public image of a dead man instead of focusing on living. You don't have any hobbies, you don't have any dreams for the future, your body is falling apart, you're suffering in silence and still carrying the burden of society on your broken back. I want you to heal. Even if that means we can't be friends anymore. I was willing to risk that, for your sake."

"I still want to be your friend, Shota."

"I… appreciate that."

"This is just. I need some time to process this. I understand why you did it. I know you meant well. But I'm not sure how this is going to play out or how I'm going to face it."

"I understand. Do you want me to get someone else to look after you?"

"Yes, I think that would be best."

"Any preferences?"

That seemed to stump Toshinori, and he took some time trying to think. He pressed both hands to his face. "Nezu's my friend, but he talks too much. Makes my ears bleed. And I'd rather die than have Gran Torino here. Naomasa's on vacation…" Shota could hear him muttering behind his hands, voice barely audible. "The other teachers coddle me too much… or they still view me as All Might… like they feel unworthy to be in my presence, like I'm some kind of god… and the students are completely out of the question."

He leaned back in his chair, groaning. "Dammit, Shota. You're the only one I think I'd like having here." He admitted in a breath, more air than voice. "I slept better than I have in **years**. I never felt like you were looking down on me like doctors do, or up at me like I'm a saint. We were just peers, like. I'm just a normal human being. I… I felt so **comfortable** with you here. I wasn't alone. That's why this- this hurts so much. That you had to go and do that."

Shota's throat tightened painfully, moisture stinging his aching eyes. He looked away before Toshinori could see his face, turning sideways, his long hair obscuring his eyes. For a while he stood there, feeling weak at the knees, unsure what to do or say. He drew in a breath.

For the time being, Toshinori didn't tell him who else he wanted to take care of him. He could only assume he was still thinking it over. So, for now, he still had that role.

"Your doctor's appointment is in two hours. Do you want me to drive you there?"

"Yes, that's fine." Toshinori's voice was dull, empty.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Take your meds?"

"Yes."

"How's the nausea?"

"It'll probably start to hit me in an hour or so. I feel… alright, right now."

Shota nodded. His hand lifted to the back of his neck, digging underneath his hair to press against his hot skin. Everything was catching up with him. He felt like the floor had opened up beneath him, like he was falling through a bottomless pit.

"Can I use your shower?" His voice came out tighter than he anticipated.

"Of course."

Shota slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. He stripped out of his black jumpsuit. He carefully unravelled his scarf and set it on the counter. He felt vulnerable and exposed without it. He stepped into the freshly-washed tub and turned on the water.

He liked it scalding, how it felt like it was about to burn his skin, just barely shy of causing damage. He picked up a bar of soap and scrubbed himself down. He used Toshinori's shampoo- it was some off-branded neutral scent, Ocean Mist.

He stood there in the shower, staring blankly at the tiled wall, until the water turned cold. He turned the water off and stood there even longer, squeezing his hair, dripping, shivering. When he finally gathered the semblance of mind to step out of the tub, he realized he had forgotten to grab himself a fresh towel.

He grabbed Toshinori's towel off the hook. It smelled musty. It was still a little bit moist from the last time it was used. He used it anyway, drying off the best he could. He put his old clothes back on and wound his scarf around his neck.

Wearing his old clothes, the shower didn't do much to make him smell any better, but at least it was something. When he finally stepped back into the living room again, he found it difficult to look in Toshinori's direction. He sat down on the couch, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to idly scroll through his news feed.

The headlines were already flooding in.

_'Shocking! Elusive Pro Hero Eraserhead Exposes All Might's Personal Life!'_

_'The Truth Behind All Might: Of Loss and Sacrifice'_

_'The Rise and Fall of All Might: A Fresh Perspective'_

_'All Might Did Not Fail Society; Society Failed All Might'_

_'Unpopular Pro Hero Eraserhead Betrays All Might'_

_`Indie Radio Show Exposes All Might: Is It Real?`_

_`A Call for Peace: Let All Might Die'_

As he was scrolling through his news feed, each new headline prodding a fresh new needle through his heart, his screen was interrupted by a phone call from a number he didn't recognize. Feeling numb, he answered.

It was a news publication, asking him to come to their TV show and discuss his little radio stunt.

"No."

He wasn't sure how they even got his number. He hung up on the reporter mid-sentence. He held the power button on his phone and turned it off. He was tempted to chuck his phone out the window, fantasizing about watching it shatter into a million shards on the asphalt below.

Now that the sun was up, he was tired. Cripplingly, miserably tired.

He fell asleep.

* * *

"Shota. Wake up."

He felt someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned, peeling his eyes open. They burned and stung, the light too bright. He blinked, and his eyelids felt like they were scraping his eyeballs raw.

"Sorry to wake you. But I'm going to miss my appointment if we don't leave right now."

Shota tilted his head to one side, finding Toshinori standing behind the couch, his hand heavy on his shoulder. The man was wearing a button-down shirt and slacks, except it was unbuttoned in the middle, so his casted arm could stick through it. He couldn't fit his arm through the sleeve. Shota guiltily realized he had slept through Toshinori's morning routine. He hoped he hadn't needed his help.

He pulled his eyedrops out of his jumpsuit pocket and used them quickly. He pushed himself off the couch. His back ached. His bones popped as he stretched. He took his phone out of his pocket, forgetting that he had turned it off. He wanted to check the time. He turned it on.

He had 17 missed calls. They were all numbers he didn't recognize. And he had a single text.

_/Present Mic: Hey asshole, I gave your number out to a bunch of reporters. Have fun!/_

Shota didn't even have the heart to fire back. He felt numb. He put his phone away.

"Let's go."

He picked up Toshinori's trash can and grimaced. He dumped its contents into the larger trash bin in the kitchen. The thing probably needed to get hosed down, but he just didn't have the time. He carried it with him, offering his shoulder to Toshinori as they left the apartment.

The drive to Toshinori's doctor went without incident. Despite his close relationship with U.A.'s school nurse, Recovery Girl, she wasn't the doctor responsible for managing Toshinori's medication and chronic symptoms. He saw a different doctor who was responsible for treating pro heroes with more traumatic injuries. The clinic was very private. There wasn't much of a waiting room, or a wait. The doctor took Toshinori into a back room immediately when they walked through the doors to the clinic, and Shota found himself sitting alone in the lobby, waiting.

He dared to look at his phone again. He had to set it on silent so he could ignore all the calls he was getting. He was up to 32 missed calls, now. This time, he saw numbers he recognized peppered in there. A couple U.A. teachers. Nezu. And, worst of all, a student: Tenya Iida.

He checked his texts next.

_/Tenya Iida: With all due respect. Mr. Aizawa, that was shameful. Everyone in class is embarrassed, but they didn't want to say anything. As class representative, I felt it was my duty to inform you./_

_/Tenya Iida: We would like to do something to ease the burden your reputation has suffered, however. We still respect and believe in you. Ultimately, however, we're concerned about how this is going to affect All Might. When you come back to class, I believe it should be priority to discuss how we, as a school, can move forward with the knowledge you have brought to light. _

_/Tenya Iida: We would like to move forward doing our utmost to respect you, All Might, and hero society as a whole. I believe there is a possibility we can make the most of this bad situation if we come together as a community. Thank you for understanding./_

If it had been anyone else, over any other situation, Shota might have lost his temper. But he knew, deep down, he deserved it. And he knew Iida. That student, for all his awkwardness, had maturity far beyond his years and the guts to stand up to his own teachers. He had seen it time and time again: Iida was not afraid to speak his mind.

Toshinori arrived a few minutes later, looking worn out. He looked down at Shota, nodding at him.

"Can we stop by the pharmacy on the way back? He's trying me on a few different things."

"Yeah. Of course."

At that moment, Shota noticed his phone screen turn on, another silent call going through. His thumb was halfway to the 'reject' button before he realized what the caller ID was.

The vet.

He answered it, and was informed by the cheerful receptionist that Fearless was ready to go home. He thanked her, said he'd be there within an hour or so, and hung up.

In the midst of all the numb emptiness that flooded his life, a seed of hope planted itself in Shota's heart, completely unbidden. He drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his thudding pulse, and exhaled slowly through parted lips. His bloodshot gaze lifted to Toshinori's face.

"Are you willing to take a little detour?"


	7. Chapter 7

The vet brought Fearless out from the back of the office in a cardboard carrier. When Shota looked inside to check on the cat, the first thing he noticed was that she was missing her left hind leg and wearing a cone. The second thing he noticed was how pretty she was. With her fur washed of all the dirt and grime, she had a smooth, blue-gray coat and an extremely poofy tail that reminded him of a featherduster. Her eyes were a bright, vivid yellow.

The vet explained what had happened where she stood behind the counter. "She's doing very well, but we had to amputate the leg. She's spayed and up to date on all her shots. We microchipped her. You'll need to change her bandages and give her pain medication as directed on the instructions. Keep her in a quiet, comfortable space." He was passed a sheet containing more detailed care instructions- and the bill was stabled to it, too. "Do you have any questions for us?"

"No. Thank you."

Toshinori hadn't been feeling well enough to get out of the car, but he had given Shota his credit card so he could pay the vet bill with it. Shota stood there, holding the card in his hand, a lump in his throat. He had accepted the offer yesterday, but now, he wasn't sure he could follow through in good conscious, knowing how poor the former hero really was.

Shota put Toshinori's card back into his pocket, and swiped his instead.

He brought Fearless to the car and opened the passenger side door. "Do you want to hold her carrier?" He asked Toshinori as he passed over his credit card.

"I think I can manage to, yes." Toshinori stuck his card back into his wallet. In the brief moment that the plain, faux leather wallet was open, Shota glimpsed a photograph of Toshinori and Midoriya posing with peace-signs on a pristine-looking beach. Just how well did those two know each other, anyway? Were they related? Father and son? Uncle and nephew? Cousins?

_It would explain why Izuku's quirk behaves so similarly..._

Shota pushed it out of his mind and placed the cardboard carrier in Toshinori's lap. He opened the top of it so he could look down at the cat. Fearless poked her head up, squirming, looking for an escape route. Her eyes were wide and confused, ears pivoting in opposite directions. Toshinori's skeletal fingers lowered to smooth back the fur on her head and stroke her down her back. As he stroked her, this seemed to calm her down. At the very least, it kept her from trying to make a daring escape from her confusing cardboard prison.

Shota seated himself in the driver's seat and started the car. "Do you still want the cat?"

"Yes, I do."

"After we drive by the pharmacy, I'll go to the store and get stuff for her. Litter box and food and toys and everything."

"That would be nice. Thank you."

"She's got a lot of needs right now. Has to have her bandages changed, and she's on pain medication. I'd say she's a kindred spirit with you." Shota explained as he drove. "I'm not sure you can do that yourself in your current state."

"No, I probably couldn't."

Shota swallowed thickly, his eyes fixed on the road. They were twenty minutes away from the pharmacy where Toshinori had his prescriptions filled. "Have you thought about who you want to replace me?"

"Pardon?"

"As your caretaker."

"Oh."

Silence.

"I don't know, Shota."

More silence.

"Honestly, I just want to be alone right now. But my doctor said that someone should stay with me to make sure there's no unexpected reactions to the new drugs."

"I understand. I can ask around U.A.-"

"No." Toshinori sounded unexpectedly stern. Then, he said again, softer. "No. It's too much of a pain. Like I said earlier. It was comfortable for me to exist in the same space with you. And you're already here, so it feels like a waste of time to kick you out now."

"I see. So you're alright with me staying, then?" Shota was unable to prevent a hint of hopeful desperation from leaking into his tone. His throat was tight.

In his peripheral vision, Shota saw Toshinori's glowing eyes point in his direction. "It sounds to me like you're… pretending not to care, Shota."

Familiar words. He accused Toshinori of that once. It felt like an eternity ago. Shota remembered that tiny box he buried inside his head. It was rumbling, trying to escape.

"Be honest with me, Shota. I think you owe me that much. What's on your mind?"

The locks were flying off, one by one. He couldn't stop it. The box opened, just a little. Just a crack. Enough for a single, small admission to slip into the light.

"I liked getting to know you. I do want to stay and help you and Fearless out." Shota said, his eyes fixed on the road, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "It's… depressing to be alone. It's not much different for me. To go home to an empty apartment. So I think… I found a kindred spirit in you, too."

Shota fell silent for a moment, trying to put together his thoughts. It was hard to speak so frankly about his feelings, when he was so accustomed to believing he didn't have any at all. It was hard to feel like he mattered to anyone, when the people he should have mattered to in the first place decided he wasn't worth the life he had. It was hard to let go of those four years living in a villain's cell, being treated like a tool without emotions or needs. It stuck with him. Invisible scars that no one could see but him. It was hard to realize the humanity in himself.

"I screwed up. I did something stupid. I thought it would help you. Maybe it still has a chance to help, but I shouldn't have gone behind your back. I'm sorry, Toshinori."

It was the first time he had actually apologized to someone in a very, very long time.

Toshinori seemed to notice it. His eyes softened. He turned away, facing the window. "I forgive you."

Shota blinked rapidly. If his eyes weren't so dry, he might have teared up. Toshinori was so quick to forgive. He didn't even take any time to think about it. Shota had wronged him only hours ago, and he had already chosen to forgive.

"I can stay out of your way and give you space. I can stay in another room." Shota offered quickly.

"Yes, that's fine."

"And I want to earn your trust back. I recognize it's not going to happen overnight." He drew in a sharp breath. "I realized how much I've valued you as a friend, all this time. I think… all semester, I was the one in denial about that. I didn't want to admit that I respected you, despite our differences."

Toshinori didn't reply for several moments. Then, he said, "yes, I value you as well. I don't want what happened today to ruin our friendship, especially since we just **now **got to this point." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "At the same time, there's a lot I have to grapple with now. That's why I want some time alone."

Shota nodded. Thinking about it, he realized just how level-headed and gracious Toshinori was being. If it were Present Mic who was in this situation, Shota was sure he would've blocked him on social media, kicked him out of his life, and refused to ever speak to him again. Toshinori had calmly communicated his feelings, expressed his boundaries, and forgiven him all in one go. Granted, he was a good twenty years older than Shota and Mic and had a hefty chunk of life experience under his belt, but Shota had a feeling that age had little to do with it. The man was, plainly and simply, good.

He remembered something as he drove, swallowing thickly. "Oh. You should know. Iida messaged me. He wants Class 1-A to discuss how to go about it. I think his primary concern is making sure your feelings are addressed and respected, so that the school knows how to approach it." He paused a moment. "If... if you're feeling well enough on Monday, if these new meds work out for you, I think you should go in and address this. In your own words. I know it's a lot to ask you, to clean up the mess that I'm responsible for making, but… it gives you the agency to handle this how you want to. I don't want to be the one to speak for you."

"No, I think that's ideal." Toshinori agreed quietly, drawing in a deep breath, his hand resting heavily on Fearless's back. "With luck, my doctor's got me set up on something that'll work." 

* * *

_/hey, Mic./_

_/Present Mic: ?/_

_/can you feed my cats for me. and scoop the litter boxes/_

_/Present Mic: why are you asking me eraserass? i'm still way mad at you, dude/_

_/because you're the only other person who knows where i live and i wont be home this weekend./_

_/Present Mic: why, are you trying to leave the country out of shame?/_

_/no, im still with Yagi/_

_/Present Mic: wait, he hasn't kicked you out?/  
__  
__/no, he hasn't./_

_/Present Mic: you didn't tell him?/_

_/no, we talked about it. he knows./_

_/Present Mic: he's either crazy forgiving or crazy out of options. Just tell him Midnight would be perfectly happy to take care of him!/_

_/i already asked him if he'd prefer anyone else. he didn't come up with anything./_

_/Present Mic: ?/_

_/anyway, while you're at my place, bring me a change of clothes or two to this address./ _Shota texted him Yagi's apartment number.

_/Present Mic: what am i now, your errand boy?/_

_/you're wasting your energy staying mad at me over something that's between me and Yagi. you already got your revenge. The media has been hounding me all day and it's obnoxious and annoying. Are you satisfied?/_

It took an uncharacteristically long time before Present Mic responded.

_/Present Mic: fine. I'll stop being mad./_

_/Present Mic: i just want things back to normal./_

_/Present Mic: but we do have to figure out what to do next. The faculty got together over lunch break today to talk about it. Beyond being super mad at you, most of us had no idea how much pain AM is in. but we don't want to treat him any differently and we don't want to embarrass him or make a big deal over it./_

_/i'm not going to make the mistake of speaking for him again. If yagi is feeling better by monday, he wants to come in to school and discuss how he wants to be treated going forward./_

_/Present Mic: i guess that's the best we can hope for./_

_/Present Mic: i'll take care of your cats this weekend. And i'll come by in a few hours with your clothes./_

_/thanks, mic./_

Present Mic sent him a thumbs-up emoji.

Shota put his phone away, exhaling slowly. At least that was one less person who wanted to roast his ass on an open fire. For now, he had to focus on the task at hand: shopping for cat supplies. He took a cart with him, even though he wasn't planning on buying much, but a bin of cat litter was a little bulky to drag around with him through the entire market. He left Toshinori in the car with Fearless, so he had to make it quick.

He got some cans of wet cat food, and a bag of dry food. He found a few mouse toys filled with catnip, and a little ball with a bell. He found a litter box, and a large bin of litter to go with it. He threw in a brush and some nail trimmers. Lastly, he inspected a selection of detachable cat collars, debating on what color to get.

_Toshinori always wears stupid, gaudy suits. I've seen him wearing a freaking leopard print tie. The man has absolutely no taste.  
_  
He grabbed a pink collar with a goofy floral print and glitters.

He picked up a few things to make for meals, too. He had originally planned on sticking around with Toshinori for one day, but it seemed one had turned into four. Thursday came and went, he was halfway through Friday, and now he had Saturday and Sunday to worry about.

As he picked up a cup of instant ramen, he found himself realizing how normal and domestic this all felt. He didn't see himself wanting to take care of the ailing ex-hero at first, but now, he was actually looking _forward _to going back to his apartment, making him dinner, and sending him funny cat videos. He liked doing it. It gave him purpose. For as sad and miserable as Toshinori was, it wasn't as if his company had been unpleasant.

_He's pretended to be happy and strong and healthy for years, only to come home to bleed alone. I might be the first person who's ever seen the depths of his loneliness. __I'm not sick like he is, but __I know what it's like to bleed alone._

Shota finished shopping for groceries. The checkout line was long, so he busied himself by glancing through the stupid gossip magazines they always kept near the front. It was long, however, before his ears picked up gossip that made his blood run cold.

"Did you hear about what happened on Present Mic's radio show?" He heard from the man standing in front of him.

"No, what?" Responded the woman who was with him.

"Some pro hero I've never heard of got on the show to talk about All Might's personal life. Claimed he's his caretaker or something."

"Oh really! What did he say?"

"All Might is actually really sick. Based on what he said, All Might's been sick for years, and nobody knew about it. He's just… been suffering in silence this whole time. But he kept saving lives and fighting crime anyway."

"Oh, that's horrible. What is he sick with?"

"I dunno, he didn't say. I mean. I feel really twisted up about it. We all just took All Might for granted. And I know we should leave him alone and everything, but. I kind of want to send him fan mail or something now. Just to thank him."

Shota kept waiting to hear something more about Eraserhead, about how horrible it was that he had betrayed All Might by sharing that personal information, but nothing else came of it. The couple in front of him checked out. Shota put his groceries up on the conveyor belt, feeling confused.

Would Toshinori mind getting letters from concerned fans thanking him for his service? Was it something that he would find invasive, like they were treating him differently now that they knew about his condition? Or would it make him happy to know people valued him, and thanked him for his sacrifices, instead of blaming him for the collapse of hero society and the rise in villain activity?

Was Shota seeing something good come from his actions, or was it merely the start of more pain for Toshinori?

He headed out of the store, his arms weighed down with plastic bags. He returned to his car and popped the trunk, unloading his cargo into the back. He headed to the drivers seat and opened the door.

Fearless was in his chair, out of her box. And she jumped out of the open door. For a three legged cat fresh out of surgery, she was fast.

Shota reacted on instinct, in a split second. His quirk activated. His vision went red. His hair flowed weightlessly. His scarf unraveled, shooting out to grab the fleeing cat before she could escape. When the animal was safely restrained, he withdrew the scarf towards his body and dropped the cat into his arms, holding her firmly. Her cone was knocked askew. She was squirming, unharmed.

Shota blinked. His quirk deactivated, and he felt his hair fall around his shoulders. Using his quirk to catch her was probably overkill. But his reflexes were too well-honed over years of hero work. His eyes burned. But he didn't have time to get his eye drops. A fresh concern had to be addressed next: why wasn't Toshinori holding Fearless?

Shota looked into his car towards the man seated in the passenger seat, dread blooming in the pit of his stomach. He saw Toshinori leaning forward, rancid-smelling blood on his hand, on his shirt, on his thighs, on the seat. He was looking wearily in Shota's direction, the wrinkles deep on his brow, his eyes nearly screwed shut with pain.

"S-sorry, Shota," he wheezed. "I puked in your car." And all over himself.

"It's fine. Are you okay?" Shota asked as he took a seat, shutting the door. He still had poor Fearless in his arms.

"It just hit me suddenly. I was holding Fearless. Couldn't put her down and. Get to my trash can in time."

"It's fine. Let's get you home." Shota looked for the cat's discarded cardboard carrier. He placed her inside and handed the carrier back to Toshinori. "Think you can hold this on the way back?"

"Y-yeah." Toshinori took the carrier and closed the top of it. Poor Fearless would have to wait a little while longer to see the light of day, and Toshinori had the frame of mind not to try petting her with his hand covered in blood.

Shota returned to the road. "When can you start on your new medication?"

"Six hours."

"Think you can hold out? You look like shit."

"I'll try." Toshinori tilted his head back against the seat, his eyes drooping shut, clearly miserable. "I'm… really tired of this."

"Yeah. Me too."


	8. Chapter 8

Shota had a plan, and he hated it.

If Toshinori's new medication didn't improve his condition by tomorrow, he was going to take him back to the hospital. He wasn't entirely sure why Toshinori was released in the first place, given the state he was in, but he assumed it was because the doctors thought he had someone to look out for him at home- and keeping the ex Number One Hero and Symbol of Peace against his will in the confines of a hospital bed was probably not an appealing prospect for anyone. Toshinori probably demanded to be released, or at the very least, pretended he was feeling better than he actually was.

Shota had no idea how long he had to deal with this stuff by himself. He didn't know exactly when Toshinori was released. But it was clear by looking at Toshinori that he couldn't take much more of it. Days upon days of near-endless nausea was wearing him out. He occasionally glanced at the miserable man where he sat twisted and sweating in the passenger seat, steadying his breaths, his only usable hand clenching Fearless's cardboard carrier shut. The most he could do for Toshinori right now was roll down the windows and let him get some semblance of fresh air. His entire car smelled foul.

Twenty minutes later, he finally made it to the parking lot outside the apartments. He helped Toshinori out of the passenger seat, taking Fearless's carrier from him. With his free hand he grabbed the trash bin from the floor. He offered his shoulder to Toshinori for balance and shuddered when he felt the poor man grasp his arm with a vomit-soaked hand.

_At least Mic is bringing me a change of clothes later. _

One step at a time, he led Toshinori out of the parking lot, feeling Fearless squirming in her carrier. The taller man at his side was visibly paling, his jaw taut, holding his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back towards the overcast sky. He stopped walking.

"Toshinori?" Shota looked up at his face with dread, knowing exactly what was coming.

"S-sorry. I... " Toshinori swallowed. "Gonn-" He lurched.

Shota barely had time to thrust the trash can in front of him before he puked up a spray of blood- not that it mattered much, since they were outside, though the sight of a blood splatter on the parking lot might have caused someone distress. He felt Toshinori's arm slip off his shoulders as he landed heavily on his knees, grabbing the trash can out of Shota's grasp. All Shota could do was kneel next to him and rub his back, his other hand occupied with Fearless's carrier.

He was so distracted with poor Toshinori's plight that he didn't notice a handful of bystanders on the nearby sidewalk, staring, one of them with his phone raised.

It was Toshinori who noticed. He tried to say something, but retched instead. Even in the midst of his coughing fit, he was staring ahead at some fixed point. Shota had the semblance of mind to follow his gaze.

Three bystanders. Two of them were already rushing away, rubbernecking, while one was standing there with his cell phone resolutely raised.

Shota's blood boiled. He stood abruptly from Toshinori's side, fists clenching. He rushed towards the guy with the cell phone and barked, "hey!"

The guy shoved his cell phone in his pocket and turned to flee. Sparks danced from the guy's feet, and Shota realized he wasn't wearing soles. He was extremely fast- probably some kind of speed quirk.

But, with his own quirk, Shota was faster. His eyes flashed red. The sparks stopped flying from the stranger's feet, and he stumbled in shock. Shota's scarf unraveled in an instant, shooting out to grab the guy around his chest, tightening, restraining him. The stranger struggled and tried to throw off his scarf as if it were fabric, but quickly realized it wasn't.

Shota's scarf was not fabric. It was carbon fiber, reinforced, and extremely heavy. Shota was sure he had permanent upper back and shoulder damage from wearing it 24/7, but he was used to it.

"What the hell, dude!" The stranger shouted, squirming.

Shota closed the distance between them, venom in his throat. "Delete it."

"Let go of me!"

Shota was on him now, so close he could feel his breath. "Delete. It."

The spark-foot guy spat on him.

Shota raised his fist, fully intending to knock his teeth out.

"Shota!" Toshinori snapped from behind him. Shota's fist hovered in the air, trembling, his fingernails biting into his palms. Slowly, Shota looked over his shoulder towards Toshinori. He hadn't blinked yet, not once. His eyes were still red and burning. His hair was still flowing weightlessly in the air.

"You look like a villain, Shota. Let him go." Toshinori wheezed from where he was still kneeling on the asphalt, blood dripping from his chin.

Shota swallowed, his throat tight. Then, he shut his eyes. His hair fell, his scarf loosened, and spark-foot guy thrust the tangled material off of his shoulders, shoved Shota roughly, turned, and ran like the wind.

Shota stood there numbly, watching him leave, pent-up rage in his veins, feeling helpless. He drew in a deep breath, trying to refocus. He needed to help Toshinori back into his apartment. But all he could think about was the contents of that guy's cell phone… and where it might end up.

_If that idiot posts it to social media, it's going to go viral. The legendary All Might, literally at his most vulnerable. It'll humiliate him. I shouldn't have listened to him. I should have grabbed that guy's cell phone and crushed it. _

He returned to Toshinori's side, still seething, and reached down with his free hand to help him up. Toshinori rose, knees knocking, breathing unsteadily. Shota grabbed his trash can and continued the journey. He helped him up the stairs and found himself, finally, outside the man's door.

He dragged Toshinori inside. They were finally alone, in the privacy of his apartment, but Shota knew he had his work cut out for him. He needed to make sure Toshinori could change and bathe. He needed to make sure Fearless was put somewhere safe and comfortable. He needed to get the groceries out of his car, and clean the passenger seat. He needed to make dinner.

And, Heavens above, he needed to sleep.

Toshinori found his balance by leaning on the wall in the entry hall, so Shota could release him and find a spot to put Fearless. He opted for Toshinori's bedroom. It was a small space with an open closet and a bed she could hide under if she felt safer that way. He set her carrier down on the floor and gently brought her out of the box.

When he set Fearless on the floor, she wobbled and limped sluggishly around the room, her head bobbing as she inspected the place, her weight awkward with the plastic cone around her neck. She started to go under the bed, but her cone bumped into it, preventing her from entering. She realized she could fit in the closet, and Shota saw her crawl on top of Toshinori's shredded Golden Age hero uniform and curl up to rest on the bundle of red, white, blue, and gold.

He felt satisfied leaving her there. He'd have to go get her food, water and litter next, but there was something more important he had to do, first. He left the room and shut the door behind him, finding Toshinori standing where he left him, his head leaning limply against the wall.

Shota offered his shoulder. "Need to get you washed off." He said.

Toshinori took a moment to think about it. He nodded. Shota helped him to the bathroom. Toshinori used the countertop for balance while Shota stood there, considering their options.

"I'll go get something for your cast, and I'll get some clothes. It's probably a better idea to take a shower than a bath, right now. I know it's bad for a cast, even a waterproofed one, but..." He trailed off, the rest of his thought unfinished. "Anyway, can you undress on your own?"

"I- I don't know." Toshinori managed. Shota noticed his arms were shaking where he stood, gripping the edge of the countertop. "S-shit. I just. Really want to be left alone, Shota. I don't want you in here. But I can barely move. Every time I get sick it strains my injury, it just gets worse every day. I feel like I've been shredded in half."

Shota rubbed the back of his neck. This was a no-win situation the both of them were in. Toshinori needed help, but didn't want it. He hadn't asked for any alternative caretakers. And Shota wasn't exactly in Toshinori's favor. His stunt in the parking lot probably didn't go very far towards earning his trust back.

"If you need help, I'll help you. If you don't, I'll stand by. I won't watch. Is that acceptable?"

Toshinori sighed, sounding defeated. "Yes."

Shota left to grab the garbage bags and duct tape. He found a fresh towel in a closet. He went through Toshinori's dresser to gather another pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, noting that Fearless was still curled up in his Golden Age hero uniform. Shota returned to the bathroom to waterproof Toshinori's cast as he had done before, and then stepped away. He turned his back to the man, staring out of the open door into the room beyond.

As he heard fabric rustling, Shota's mind drifted. He couldn't get that spark-foot guy out of his head. He couldn't stop thinking about that miserable scene going viral online. He couldn't stop thinking about the swarm of social media comments, of some people mocking All Might, of some people sympathizing, or, God forbid, people turning it into a meme. He massaged at his face with both hands, miserable with dread.

"I need help."

Shota turned to see a naked Toshinori from behind, his pants and underwear tangled up around his ankles as he was facing the shower. It would take him a few steps to get into the tub proper, and he didn't have anything to grab on to for balance during the journey. Shota offered his shoulder to him, helping him step out of his clothes and over the wall of the tub.

He turned the water on for him, switched it into shower mode, and stepped away. Toshinori could lean against the wall as he stood in the stream. Shota watched him sagging, pressing his forehead against the cold tiles on the wall. He was leveraging himself with his only usable arm, and seemed to be having difficulty picking up the soap. It was taking all his energy to stand. Shota wondered if he would be better off lying down again and taking a bath, but he did need to get rinsed off first, otherwise he'd end up stewing in residue of his own blood and vomit. But he remembered how much of a pain it was to get him out the first time.

Shota watched him for a few moments, then cleared his throat. "Do you still need help?"

Toshinori was silent for several moments, hanging his head under the stream of water. Then, he said, "yes."

Shota grabbed the shampoo for him, squeezing it into his hands. It was hard for him to reach at their angle, Shota standing on the outside and Toshinori inside, and the man was over a foot taller. As he considered his options, he sighed.

_Screw it._

He stepped into the shower behind Toshinori, fully clothed, rubbing the shampoo between his hands. He reached up to start working it into Toshinori's hair. From where he was standing, he wasn't really hit with much from the shower head, so he was barely getting wet.

"If this is uncomfortable, you can let me know. I'll leave." Shota said as he stood there, lathering up the soap in Toshinori's golden mane.

"It's fine."

Shota took that as permission to continue. He finished with the soap in his hair, then found a bottle of blue, generic body wash nearby. He applied it to a washcloth he picked up off the edge of the tub and scrubbed it gently over Toshinori's back, feeling his hand run over the ridges of his spine and ribs. When he reached the scar, he noted how red and inflamed his side looked, and was very careful not to apply any pressure at all. He just let the cloth roll over his wounded skin.

"How are you doing?" Shota asked as he worked. He'd keep the communication line open, leaving Toshinori opportunities to tell him if this was too much.

"I'm fine."

"How's the nausea?"

"Manageable."

Shota looked back at his scar. It looked redder than it did yesterday. Every single dip and crevice of his ravaged flesh was mottled blue, red, and purple, as if the man was just beaten to a pulp. Shota was shocked Toshinori could even still stand upright.

Shota continued to wash his back, before a very obvious problem presented itself.

"Is it okay if I get your ass?"

Toshinori's shoulders tensed and coughed thickly. Shota waited for him to catch his breath. "I guess."

It didn't bother Shota. For him, this was a very clinical process. But he wasn't about to touch Toshinori anywhere he didn't want to be touched, even if it meant he wouldn't get thoroughly cleaned. He was glad the man at least trusted him this much.

He moved on to his legs, bending down so he could scrub his thighs, calves, and the tops of his feet. Toshinori was so silent and motionless, Shota felt almost like he was cleaning a statue.

"Can you turn around?"

Toshinori turned slowly, pressing his back up against the wall. This position was clearly more difficult for him to hold. It was harder for him to leverage himself upright. His good hand was pressed against the wall behind him. Since he moved, Shota was now getting a faceful of the shower water. He reached up to angle the shower head, so the water sprayed on Toshinori instead of himself.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine."

Wordlessly, he continued his ministrations, applying more body wash to the washcloth before going in to wash off his face, neck, arm, and chest. His left side was getting soaked, but he didn't care. He was about to change, anyway.

"Don't touch me there." Toshinori warned as Shota reached his abdomen, treating the scar with extreme care.

Shota knew what he meant. "I won't."

And he didn't. In fifteen minutes, Shota managed to clean off about 98% of the ex Symbol of Peace before he was left standing there in his shower, his brain catching up with him. He just had his hands all over this guy's naked body and didn't even realize it.

His pulse quickened. He remembered his lockbox, and shoved it back under the dirt and gravel where it belonged.

He left the water to do its job rinsing off the soap from Toshinori's body as he stepped out of the tub to retrieve his towel. When he returned, he offered his shoulder to his patient, and Toshinori stepped out with him. Shota gently dried him off from head to toe. He got his underwear and pants for him, helping him step into them one leg at a time. The shirt came last, slipping easily over the man's neck and shoulders. He squeezed his cast through the short sleeve.

Shota offered his shoulder to him, carefully leading him into the living room and to his trusty recliner. He brought his trash can over to him and plopped it on the corner table, within Toshinori's comfortable reach. "I'm going to get the groceries out of my car and make you some lunch. Present Mic should be here soon, he's just dropping off clothes for me. After that, I'm taking your clothes to the laundromat. Then I'm going to camp out in your room with your cat. And I won't come out unless you call for me. In five hours you can take your new meds, so that's when I'll come out to check on you and see how you're doing with that, then get you supper. Once we're sure you're doing alright, I'll go back into your room and leave you be for the rest of the day. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes. Thank you, Shota."

Shota nodded. With that, he returned to his tasks. If he kept his mind running and focused with one task at a time, he could stop himself from thinking about spark-foot guy. Or Toshinori in the shower. Or the reporters that were *still* calling his phone every thirty minutes. Or Toshinori in the shower. Or what UA had to say to him once he showed his face on campus again. Or Toshinori in the shower.

He found some carpet cleaner under Toshinori's sink, and a bunch of paper towels. He brought a garbage bag with him as he headed out to his car. Fortunately, the street was deserted this time around. When he opened his door and inspected his car, he found that there wasn't a lot of blood on the seat. It seemed the vast majority of it had ended up on poor Toshinori's clothes. Shota sprayed down what he saw, soaking it up and trying the best he could to get the stains out.

His car was a piece of crap, anyway. It wouldn't bother him too much.

He finished cleaning and retrieved all the groceries he left behind. Next order of business: taking care of poor little Fearless.

He returned to the apartment, finding Toshinori reclined in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. He left the man alone, slipping into his room, where he found the cat exactly where he left her. He set up the litter box in the corner of the room. He put out two bowls that he bought. He filled one with water from the tap, and the other with wet cat food. He set down the cat toys, though he wasn't sure Fearless would be up to playing any time soon.

"Hey, Fearless." Shota said, kneeling down next to the unhappy animal. She stared warily at him. When he came nearer, she stood up on her shaky three legs. He reached out towards her, but she hobbled away from him, making a low, throaty growl.

"Sorry, buddy. But I wanna show you where your toilet is. And your food and water."

He made another reach for her, and she hissed.

He sighed. He stood upright, deciding to leave her alone. If she got hungry enough, she'd probably find the food on her own. And if she peed somewhere she wasn't supposed to, he'd just deal with it.

"You really are kindred spirits with your new dad, aren't you?" He said as he watched the poor animal curl up deeper in Toshinori's closet, her poofy tail wrapping around herself. "Not the biggest fan of me right now. Just want to be left alone to nurse your wounds in peace."

Fearless seemed to agree, giving him another low warning growl.

He went to the kitchen to consider his options, deciding to just heat up the miso soup from earlier. He made two bowls, one for himself and one for Toshinori, and set aside some bread for himself. He took Toshinori's soup to him wordlessly, holding it out for him, just as he had done yesterday.

Neither of them spoke. Shota didn't want to. They were both processing. He waited for Toshinori to finish with his soup before he took the bowl away and left him with a glass of water and another nutrition shake.

While Shota was eating, he heard a knock on the door. He got up to answer it, finding a harried-looking Hizashi Yamada standing in the doorway with a plastic bag full of clothes. His blond hair wasn't styled as it usually was, loose around his shoulders. His sunglasses were askew on his face.

"Hey, Eraser." He peered over Shota's shoulder nervously, trying to get a good look at the apartment beyond. Mic looked like he was two seconds from shoving the plastic bag in his hands and bolting.

"He's not puking right now, don't worry about that." Shota knew Mic well enough to guess what was on his mind. He squinted at him. "You look like you got here in a hurry. What's up?"

"It's- uh. Why are you wet?"

"Long story."

"Right. Well. Somebody DMed me something on Twitter that I really, **really **didn't want to see." Mic adjusted his sunglasses and drew in a shaky breath. "It's bad, man. I dunno what to do about it."

A stone dropped into Shota's gut. He had a very, very good guess as to what Mic saw. He hoped, prayed, that he wasn't right. "Was it a photo of me and Yagi in the parking lot?"

"Yes."

"Shit." Shota snagged the bridge of his nose, pinching it. "There was nothing I could do about it. I had to take Yagi to the doctor, and he got sick in the parking lot while I was taking him back home. I saw a guy taking pictures of us. I tried to stop him. I told him to delete the pictures. Yagi told me to let it go."

Mic didn't seem to blame him for what happened in the parking lot. He nodded uneasily. "It's getting spread around like wildfire. On top of what you said earlier, people are talking. All Might's condition is a trending tag. And people are talking about you, too. That you're some loser hobo that shouldn't be taking care of him. Most people don't even know who you are."

In a fit of blind panic, Shota snagged his phone out of his pocket. He had to know exactly what he was dealing with. He opened Twitter, and it didn't take him long to find the picture that was circulating. Poor Toshinori was on his knees, caught mid-spew, bent over a trash can, covered in blood. Shota was looking at him, a hand rubbing his back, holding Fearless's carrier in the other. He thumbed through a few comments, a handful standing out to him.

_/Holy crap, is that All Might? Why isn't he in a hospital!? Who is that guy with him!?/_

_/I think that guy is Eraserhead. He was on the radio earlier. He should definitely take All Might to the hospital, this looks really bad./_

_/you should delete this picture, dude. this is really uncool and disrespectful./_

_/me after taco bell/ _

_/I cant believe how sick all might is, after all this time fighting for us, the symbol of peice is truely dead :( we need to leave him alone/_

_/eraserhead is a jackass, he's clearly going out of his way to expose all might as much as possible/_

_/LEAVE *clap* ALL MIGHT *clap* ALONE/_

_/That guy with the scarf looks like a homeless loser. Also wtf why is all might out in public like that/_

Shota let out a long, slow, miserable groan. He wanted to leave the planet. He wanted to die.

"See? It's bad." Mic said, running his fingers through his hair.

"There's nothing we can do about it now but ride it out." Shota muttered, slipping his phone limply into his pocket. "And keep it off of Yagi's radar until he's well enough to face it."

"Can we not like, go hunt that guy down and beat him up?"

"No, Mic."

"Just a little?"

"No."


	9. Chapter 9

"So, Mic, since you're here. I got a favor to ask."

"What now?"

"I need to take Yagi's laundry down. Think you can watch him for me while I'm gone?"

"Dude!? No way!? I'm **terrified **of him right now!"

"Then **you **take his puke-soaked laundry."

"What?! No! I'm leaving!"

"I need someone to watch him. Just for an hour. He's not going to puke."

"How do you know that!?"

"Because he usually pukes once or twice before he starts to come down and his painkillers level out. Just ask him yourself. If he looks like he's gonna hurl, you can bolt."

"Eraser, I really, **really **don't want to do this."

"It'll take too long to get someone else down here, Mic. I'm exhausted. I just want to finish these chores so I can freaking sleep."

"Eraser-" Mic whined, pleadingly.

"I promise he's not going to throw up. If he does, you can find some fresh new hell to humiliate me with. Mic, I'm desperate. I want to **sleep**. All you need to do is make sure he doesn't get worse. Just leave him alone, hang out, make sure he doesn't die."

Mic raked his painted fingernails through his hair and groaned dramatically. "Fine. Fine. I'll do it." He relented. "You owe me, Eraser."

"Fine. You can hold me to it." Shota patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mic."

While Present Mic slipped uncomfortably into the entry hall, shoving his headphones over his ears and turning up the music from his phone, Shota went to gather up the last of Toshinori's laundry into the near-overflowing hamper. He moved into his bedroom next, finding Fearless was nested in Toshinori's hero uniform once again. He stripped Toshinori's bed of the sheets and pillowcases (finding them patterned with so many bloodstains, they were more brown-red than white), shoved them into the hamper, and retreated from the apartment as soon as he could.

The trip to the laundromat was uneventful. Tossing all Toshinori's clothes into the wash, even moreso. Shota found himself seated on a bench, his head bowed low, his dark hair curtaining in front of his face. He stared at the blank screen of his cell phone with dread. He drew in a breath, and turned it on.

It was really like a train wreck. It was hard to watch, but harder to look away.

As he scrolled through the #AllMight tag, the vast majority of comments he saw were in favor of All Might. Feeling bad for him, asking others to leave him alone, and asking Spark-Foot Guy (whose username was, embarrassingly, 'Gotta Go Fast') to remove the image.

But some of them were frustratingly insensitive. Some people mocked All Might. Some people were still blaming him. However, those people were often shouted down and argued with by All Might's supporters.

Shota didn't care what anyone thought of him. The comments mentioning him, mentioning Eraserhead, barely crossed his mind. He just wanted to know what the public thought of All Might. He wanted people to respect All Might. And as much of a social media mess it was, Shota wondered if it was going to accomplish what he originally set out to do: get the general public to stop bothering Toshinori. It didn't matter how much they talked about him online, so long as the man himself was left in peace.

Shota put his phone away, watching the laundry swirl in the washing machine, lulled by the rumbling of machines and the distant sounds of city life. His head bobbed, and the struggle to hold his eyes open proved futile. He sagged where he sat on the bench, his head flopping limply against his shoulder.

Out like a light.

He became dimly aware of movement in the laundromat, of people coming and going, of voices that blended into incomprehensible babble. His brain felt like it was full of mud. He couldn't open his eyes. He didn't know how much time passed.

Something wrenched his neck. He couldn't breathe. He jerked upright, wide awake, hands snagging at the taut scarf around his neck. It was choking him.

No. Someone was choking him.

He scrambled desperately, activating his quirk, trying to turn his head. Someone was behind him, roughly pulling his scarf and twisting it. Spots and stars swam in his blood red gaze. He gasped in vain. His lungs were on fire.

"How does it feel, Eraserhead?!" A voice he didn't recognize hissed behind him.

The person shoved him forward, smashing his face against the washing machine. The metal handle struck the scar on his cheek. White hot pain lanced through his skull. The pressure released around his neck as his assailant loosened around his scarf. He gasped and spluttered, his lungs shuddering as he filled them with life.

"How does it feel when you're the one bleeding on the ground?!"

Shota had little time to recover. He whirled around, but someone kicked him. Someone else smashed their knee into his nose. His head whipped back and smashed against the washing machine. Caught off guard and surrounded, he was completely overwhelmed. His scarf shot out to catch someone- anyone. He dodged another strike at his gut, his scarf grabbing the nearest assailant and throwing him into the floor. Shota jumped nimbly onto the bench, then vaulted himself on top of the washing machine.

From his vantage point, he could see three of them. One of them had been filming the whole thing on her phone. Another person near the doorway cried, "there's a hero coming!"

His assailants started to scatter, fleeing the scene, but Shota's scarf still held one of them down. He didn't let him escape. The man struggled and cursed, the material of the scarf too strong for him to break free.

He recognized the pro hero that burst onto the scene by her white and purple uniform- Mt. Lady. She wasn't going to be very useful indoors like this, but at least her presence carried some semblance of authority.

"What the hell's going on here?!"

Shota started to speak, managing through a strained windpipe, "I was assaulted."

Mt. Lady gave Shota a cold stare. "Oh. It's you." She looked towards the man that Shota kept restrained. "Is this one of them?"

"Yes."

"I'll take him to the police. You… get that looked at. You look rough, Eraserhead." Mt. Lady approached the prone man, and Shota released him from his scarf. He finally remembered to blink. He screwed his eyes shut and spit a mouthful of blood. His nose was pouring.

"Like hell I'm going to the police!" The man spat. "It was justice! Eraserhead deserved it!"

"You nearly choked me to death."

Mt. Lady grabbed the man's arm and forced him to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, tell it to the police, bud."

Ten minutes later, Shota remembered what he was here for. He ignored the stares of bystanders as he slid down from the washing machine. He wobbled. He felt like someone lodged a hatchet in his skull. He thought his head would split like a melon.

He put Toshinori's laundry in the dryer. He spit blood on the floor. He mopped his face with his sleeve. And he waited for the man's clothes to finish drying with his back pressed flush to the wall, staring at every single person that walked past.

Toshinori's clothes couldn't finish fast enough. Shota didn't feel safe anymore. Every stranger became a threat. Every person that looked at him for too long was an enemy. His heart felt like it was going to explode, jumping at every shadow. His quirk wasn't active, but he kept forgetting to blink. His eyes burned, his head pounded, his nose kept dripping blood. The taste of iron was thick on his tongue.

As soon as the timer dinged on the dryer, he shoved everything into Toshinori's beat-up hamper and fled the scene. He shoved the hamper into the back seat of his car. His right eye was starting to swell shut. Blood dripped on his lap as he drove, his mind spinning, reminding him every 2 seconds what it felt like to be asphyxiated by his own capture weapon and sense of security. He saw a bruise on his neck when he glimpsed himself in the car's mirror.

He arrived at the parking lot. He managed to get Toshinori's hamper up the stairwell through a haze of pain. He opened the door.

Present Mic was standing in the hall, exactly where he was an hour ago, looking at his phone. Music was blaring loudly over his headphones. Toshinori was still in his recliner in the living room beyond, still staring blankly at the ceiling. Both of them glanced towards Shota when he entered.

"It's about time, Eras- **holy shit!**"

Present Mic yanked his headphones off of his ears, leaving them to hang awkwardly against the bulky directional speaker he wore around his neck. He rushed to Shota's side, grabbing the hamper from his hands and setting it aside so he could inspect his bloodied face. "Dude, what happened!?"

The commotion caused Toshinori to stir in his recliner. He popped his seat up into an upright position, leaning forward, staring towards Shota with wide-eyed panic.

Shota yanked his head away when Present Mic reached out to touch his nose. He swatted at his hand. "Stop."

Present Mic cast a look wildly over his shoulder. "Hey, All Might?! Do you have a first aid kit somewhere!?" His voice was overwhelmingly loud, booming in the apartment, rattling the furniture.

"Inside voice, Mic." Shota groaned, pressing his sleeve below his nose. Not that it did much good mopping up the blood.

Toshinori forced himself upright, his long limbs trembling with exertion. He didn't have much to use as balance as he stumbled across the living room towards the kitchen. His progress was frantic, wobbly. He stumbled.

"Mic, he can't walk. Help him." Shota pointed limply in Toshinori's direction with his free hand, the other still pressed resolutely to his face.

Present Mic left his side, rushing to Toshinori. He barely managed to reach him before Toshinori tripped over his own two feet. Mic caught his arm and steadied him. They continued their journey into the kitchen, where Toshinori opened up a lower cabinet and pointed to a container full of random medical supplies. Mic retrieved them and shoved them onto the kitchen countertop. Toshinori was left grabbing onto the counter for balance and beckoning for Shota.

Shota shuffled into the kitchen, eyes averted. He felt humiliated. He felt worn-out. He noticed, a little too late, that his hands were shaking. He watched as Mic grabbed paper towels, running some of them under the faucet. Toshinori was going through his first aid supplies, finding antiseptic.

"What happened?" Toshinori asked Shota when he came nearer, his eyes wide, overflowing with concern.

"I… fell asleep at the laundromat. Some thugs… choked me and smashed my face in." Shota sniffed thickly. His voice sounded nasal.

Toshinori cursed under his breath, wincing, his brow scrunching. "They **choked **you?"

"With my own scarf, yeah."

"Shota… I'm so, so sorry…" Toshinori breathed, sagging against the kitchen counter, wearing a look that Shota hated to see. Guilt.

Mic came up to him, dabbing at his face with the wet paper towels, removing the streaks of blood. He took the antiseptic from Toshinori, rubbing it in to a few cuts. "Who did it, Eraser?"

"Don't know. Mt. Lady took one of them to the police. The others got away."

"If I find them, they're dead. They're **so **dead." Mic finished dabbing at his face, stepping back and grimacing. He picked up a few small band-aids to stick them over the biggest of the cuts. "Hold on, gonna get you some ice. Not sure what else I can do for you, man."

Shota sniffed again, tilting his head back. He could feel blood threatening to leak through his nostrils, but he couldn't pinch his nose, it hurt too much to touch it. He grabbed a fresh paper towel and held it against his face.

"Why… why did they attack? Did they say?" Toshinori asked quietly.

"They said I deserved it. Didn't say much else." Shota responded.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Toshinori swallowed.

Shota sighed. "That guy earlier, that you didn't let me stop? He posted some pictures. Now everyone thinks that I'm exploiting you."

Toshinori groaned, hanging his head, his shoulders sagging further. Shota's attention drifted away from the guilty ex-hero, watching Present Mic's back as he grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables out of Toshinori's freezer. It looked like it had been in there for a very, very long time. Ice had grown over the outside of the bag. Present Mic grabbed a hand towel and wrapped the bag up. He held it out to Shota, and he took it and pressed it against his face. It stung against his swollen eye and cracked nose.

Toshinori looked over at Mic, drawing in a deep breath. "Can you… do me a favor?"

"As long as it doesn't take too long. I'm outta here soon. I gotta find those guys responsible for this."

"You won't find them. I'm not telling you what they looked like. Just let it go." Shota protested.

"Can you make sure my bed is made. Fresh sheets." Toshinori continued before Mic could fire back. "And put a fresh towel in the bathroom. Should be some in my hall closet."

Mic looked between Toshinori and Shota, then sighed. He nodded. "Yeah. I'll do that."

He slipped out of the kitchen to complete Toshinori's task. He put his headphones back on, silently seething. Shota was left standing alone with Toshinori, the tremor in his shoulders becoming harder to ignore.

"Choked you. With your own scarf." Toshinori repeated blankly, pinching at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. The man looked so strained, Shota could see a vein popping in his forehead. "God. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"It's not."

"I should have been there."

"You couldn't have been."

"I could have saved you."

"No, you couldn't."

"I **should **have. I'm supposed to be **All Might**. I **should **have saved you."

"You're not All Might anymore. There was nothing you could have done."

Toshinori's hand flew from his forehead, balling into a fist, slamming onto the kitchen counter with a resounding boom. "I'm **nothing **now! I'm absolutely **worthless**!" And then, the poor man doubled forward and coughed, the sound wet and rattling in his lung. Blood leaked between his lips.

"Toshinori." Shota snapped, his swollen and pounding eyes snapping to Toshinori's face. "This isn't helping me. This isn't helping you. Calm down."

Toshinori pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, drawing in a shaky breath. He didn't speak. Shota didn't know what to say, either. For a few awkward minutes, the two stood there, bleeding, miserable, weak, helpless.

Mic reappeared in the room, gesturing to his thumb. "Alright, all that's done. Eraserhead, I put your clothes on the bathroom counter." He ran his fingers through his hair, looking conflicted. "I'm… gonna go, guys." He exhaled heavily. "Sorry about what happened, Eraser. Feel better, All Might."

Mic slipped away before Shota had the frame of mind to thank him. He pressed the ice pack against his eye, standing in the kitchen in silence for a few more heartbeats. His pulse was still rapid and heavy in his chest. He still felt like he was in danger. He had to focus.

"You should sit back down, Toshinori. You look like you're about to fall over."

"You should take a shower. And lie down."

Shota swallowed. He nodded, the motion making his head swim. "Yeah."

He helped Toshinori back to his recliner before he slipped into the bathroom. It was the first time he had a chance to get a good look at himself in a mirror. His right eye was swollen nearly shut, black and blue. His neck was bruised in a straight line. His nose and upper lip were both busted up, bruises blooming across his face. There were cuts on his face, which Mic had applied small adhesive bandages to.

He stripped of his clothes and climbed into the shower. The water stung his face. Fresh blood oozed from his nostrils when he tilted his head forward. He coughed and spit up a glob of blood from his throat.

_I've operated in the shadows for years. I've stayed out of the media. I've stayed off people's radar. I could do my work in peace. I've saved about 52 children and apprehended more villains than I can count. I've never taken credit for any of that._

_Now everyone thinks they know who I am, and they hate this false version of me they've constructed._

_I don't know what to do about it._

_I can't be seen in public anymore._

When he was washed and dressed in fresh, clean clothes, Shota slipped into Toshinori's room. He found Fearless huddled at her food bowl, managing to nibble on her cat food without getting her cone in the way. She tensed when she saw him, motionless.

"Keep eating, Fearless. I won't bother you." Shota murmured.

He crawled onto Toshinori's bed. Even the fresh sheets that Mic found in the closet had old bloodstains on them. But at least they were clean. Shota curled onto his side, pulling the comforter up over his shoulders. He was exhausted beyond comprehension, but his head was still spinning, replaying the events of the weekend thus far on endless repeat.

_Will I still be able to be a hero, after all of this?_

Shota finally fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Shota sat alone in an empty cell.

Footsteps. Voices. Shouting. Screaming.

Shota sat alone in an empty cell.

They brought him food, sometimes. They told him they needed him. They asked him to trust them.

Shota sat alone in an empty cell.

Bribery didn't work. They started hitting him. They stopped letting him see his friends.

Shota sat alone in an empty cell.

They told him the truth: no one was coming to save him. He didn't matter. The heroes had better things to do. Shota learned to stop waiting. He learned to accept it. No one wanted him. No one was coming to save him. And he would always be alone.

Shota woke up.

He didn't know where he was. His hands pressed to his neck. His scarf was gone. Where was his scarf? He shot upright, and something wet and cold landed in his lap. He jolted, panicked. He grabbed the thing- was it viscera? He threw it across the room with a shout.

He then realized it was just a slushy bag of half-frozen vegetables.

He was in Toshinori's bed. The light behind the blinds told him it was evening. His face was throbbing with a dull pain.

"Shota!?" He heard Toshinori's panicked voice from the other room. He heard the recliner pop, followed by shuffling footsteps. Was Toshinori trying to walk all the way over here?

"I'm fine." Shota called, but Toshinori opened the door a few moments later, leaning heavily against the doorframe, breathless. His hand was gripping his left side. His face was shining with sweat.

"I- heard you yell," Toshinori ran his fingers through his wild haystack of a mane. "Thought- thought you might be in trouble…"

Shota shook his head, embarrassed. "Just a bad dream." He admitted. "Sorry."

Toshinori's expression softened. He continued his journey into the room proper, barely lifting his feet off the floor as he made his way painfully to the bedside. His grip never left the scar on his side. Shota wasn't fast enough to help him walk- he barely had the semblance of mind to throw the covers off his legs.

Toshinori gingerly sat on the foot of the bed, huffing. "Hoo, boy. I feel like an infirm old man," he complained, hanging his head.

"You shouldn't be walking."

"I can move if I put my mind to it."

Shota leaned his head back down on the pillow, touching his fingertips to his bruised forehead. "We're both a mess, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

Shota watched Toshinori playing with one of his bangs, tugging on the long lock of hair and winding it around his index finger. His long nose turned in Shota's direction, his eyes deeply shadowed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Your dream."

"Oh." Shota averted his eyes. "Not really."

"That's fine."

Toshinori continued to sit there at the foot of the bed in silence. He was so close to Shota's feet, he could've kicked his thigh if he wanted to.

Shota could hear birds outside. Somewhere on the floor, Fearless was rustling around, exploring her new territory. Muffled in the distance, one of the neighbors shut their apartment door. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, noting the battery was almost dead again. It was nearly 7:00 in the evening- Toshinori had let him sleep for a long time. He had a handful of missed calls, and a new text from Mic from an hour ago.

_/Present Mic: How're you doing?/_

He didn't feel like answering. He put his phone back away. _I wonder if he's told all the other teachers what happened to me. Mic's always a bit of a blabbermouth. I can't trust him to keep a secret if his life depended on it.  
_  
"Shota, I have an idea. But I want to ask your permission, before I do this." Toshinori said.

Shota looked over at him, silently urging him to continue.

"I want to ask Hizashi to interview me on his radio show. About all of this."

Shota stared at him incredulously for a moment. Then, he scoffed, and pressed the back of his head into the pillow. It was surprising to hear Toshinori suggesting the exact same thing he ran off and did behind his back. This time, Toshinori was at least asking his opinion, but it almost felt like rubbing salt in the wound. He knew Toshinori meant well, but it was as if he was saying, 'let me show you the **right **way to do this.' He already learned his lesson.

"Mic is gonna get sick of seeing our faces…" Shota muttered. He rested his hand across his face, covering his eyes. "Toshinori, I… understand the sentiment, but I feel like it's just going to make everything worse. Plus, he only broadcasts on Fridays. If your goal is to scramble for a solution to the mess we're in as quickly as possible, I don't think it's going to work."

"We can ask him if he can broadcast earlier in the week. I'm sure he can pull some strings at the radio station, right?" Toshinori insisted. "Shota, I think this is our best option. If I get in there and explain the situation, I might be able to help restore your reputation. If not that, then I'm going to ask to get back on TV about it… and you are right about the media killing me. I'm sick of being on cameras and being surrounded by the press, but that's what's going to happen if I take this story to a bigger avenue. Mic's radio show would be easier on me."

"Toshinori," Shota began with a sigh, his hand peeling off his face, hovering loosely in the air as he gestured. "I'm in this mess because of my own bad decision. It's a natural consequence for what I did by broadcasting your sensitive personal information. It's not your responsibility to fix this. I would rather you just sit back and recover."

"I understand that. But I told you how it made me feel, and you've been understanding and respectful. This situation has spiralled out of control. You're no longer suffering a consequence from a choice you made, it's turned into something else entirely. Now, it **is **my responsibility to help you. I'm the only one that **can**." Shota could see Toshinori's eyes now as he lifted his head, the shadows retreating from his eerie, glowing irises. "I'm not All Might anymore, but I'm still a hero. If I have an opportunity to help my friends, I will. Please, don't rob me of this."

Shota sagged. His hand flopped down at his side. He couldn't say no to that face. And Toshinori did have a point. He couldn't see any way he could salvage his own reputation without having the offended party himself say something about it. If Toshinori stayed silent, the public would never warm up to Shota's side of the story.

"Fine. We can ask Mic."

Toshinori visibly relaxed, a weary smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Shota."

"On one condition." Shota said.

Toshinori's brow furrowed.

"We do this interview together."

Toshinori's smile widened, just a little. It was a real one, a Toshinori one. One that wasn't afraid. "That's fair. I can do that." His shoulders pulled back. His grip on his left side loosened a little, his knuckles no longer popping out of his hand. "Let's put an end to this nightmare together."

Shota smiled too, but he didn't know why. He felt miserable and apprehensive, and his face stung. But there was something about seeing Toshinori **hopeful **about something that hit him in the chest.

Shota ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back. He was sure he looked like he was wearing a birds nest, right now. He pushed back the comforter and set his feet on the floor. He was, once again, aware of how strangely domestic all this felt.

_I've been asleep in this guy's bed. I've seen him naked, twice, like it was no big deal. It … doesn't feel strange or out of place. I feel like this is just normal. It was… comforting. Sleeping here and knowing I wasn't really alone._

Shota pushed the thought away. He put it back in the box where it belonged. He reminded himself of the lesson he learned when he was six years old. No one wanted him. He refocused on the next task at hand.

"So, have you taken your new meds yet?"

"No. I was waiting for you to wake up before I started that."

Shota stood up, stretched, and offered his shoulder to Toshinori. "Do you have to take it with food?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'll make you some supper. Something with a bit more substance than miso."

Shota took him back to his chair before he started cooking a pot of rice and diced up some chicken and vegetables. He left the chicken to cook in a skillet over a low flame, before he remembered poor Fearless.

He found where he left her care instructions on a table near the doorway, glancing through them and picking up her bottle of painkillers and a roll of fresh bandages that was included in her care package. The medicine was in liquid form, and it came with a little syringe. She was due for a dose, and he needed to change her bandages, too.

_That cat's going to hate me so much_, he thought. _But it's better she hates me than Toshinori. I'm the reason why she lost a leg, after all._

"I'll be right back," he told Toshinori. "Gotta take care of Fearless."

The man in the recliner nodded at him, before he distractedly looked down at his cell phone. Shota wondered how much he had seen on social media. Toshinori didn't seem to be the type to obsessively check things, but he had just been sitting in a chair alone for hours and hours with nothing else to do. It would have been strange if he **didn't **check anything, especially with the chaos that was going on now.

Shota slipped into his room, finding Fearless making a disaster in her litter box. _At least she knows how to use it,_ Shota thought as he waited for her to hobble out of the box, not bothering to cover up her own mess. He approached her gingerly and knelt nearby. She watched him with suspicion.

Shota filled the syringe with her medication and sighed. "Alright, Fearless. I gotta do something that you're really not going to like."

He reached out towards her, and she hunched her back and hissed at him. Shota snagged her, and the poor cat yowled and squirmed, biting his hands and digging her claws into his arm. He held her down despite her protests, taking her head as gently as he could and prying her mouth open.

It was a challenge to get the syringe pointed into the struggling animal's mouth, but he had done this before with his own cats. It only took a few seconds before it was over.

The real challenge was getting her bandages changed. While he had her in his arms, he carefully began to unravel them from her hind leg. He got a good look at the site of her surgery, her fur was shaved and her skin was red and inflamed. For as much as she struggled, poor Fearless was quickly running out of energy to put up a fight. Her initial burst of strength had run dry, and Shota had a good opportunity to wind the fresh bandages around her residual limb.

He gave her a few gentle pets down the back and released her, leaving her to hobble away and scramble into Toshinori's closet.

Shota sighed. "Hopefully one of these days, you'll warm up to humans. At least Toshinori."

He left the cat alone to check on the food. The rice would need a while longer to cook, but the chicken was turning a nice golden-brown. He stirred it and added in the vegetables. He glanced over his shoulder at Toshinori, who was still looking at his phone.

Shota remembered that he liked classical music. With what little juice he had left on his own phone, he started playing the music again, turning it up loud enough to be heard over the sizzling in the skillet.

When dinner was ready, Shota prepared a few plates and set them on the coffee table. He set down a few glasses of water and opened Toshinori's pouch of prescriptions. He read the warning labels. He set aside the pills.

"Think you can move to the couch?" He asked Toshinori. It'd be impossible for him to hold the chopsticks and the plate at the same time.

"Yeah."

Shota helped him out of his chair, grimacing as he felt Toshinori shuddering with the effort. He was wincing, bent over, trying not to stretch fully upright. It took him about 4 steps to make it to the couch, but Toshinori was already exhausted by the effort. He sank down onto the uncomfortable cushions, huffing.

"How are you doing?"

"Everything hurts."

"Guess your old painkillers have worn off, then."

Toshinori picked up his chopsticks to nibble at the chicken and rice. Shota had cut the chicken up into tiny pieces, but Toshinori still took his time chewing it thoroughly. He barely touched any of the rice. By the time Shota had finished eating, Toshinori's plate still looked full. He wasn't drinking the water Shota set out for him, either.

"What's it like to live without a stomach, anyway?"

"Very inconvenient." Toshinori said as he leaned back against the couch. "There's a lot of things I can't eat anymore. It's annoying when I get cravings for sweets and caffeine. Too much of anything can be very bad for me. Medication gets absorbed differently, too, which is why I need higher doses of things than most people. So pain management is a delicate process, as… you've seen." He rubbed at his left side, taking a breath. "When you looked up my condition, did you read about dumping syndrome?"

"A little bit. You might need to remind me."

"It's when food goes through my system too quickly. Or if my blood sugar drops suddenly. It makes me feel extremely sick. So, on top of the medication I'm on, it's just a perfect storm of misery. It can also make me dizzy. And I get diarrhea all the time. It's a mess." He huffed. "I have to take stuff to offset that. And every once in a while I need to take a B12 shot, too."

So the 'laxative' Shota thought he saw earlier in his list of medication was actually the opposite. He nodded.

"Yeah, it sounds like hell. And you've dealt with this for five years?"

Toshinori nodded. "I'm used to it. It's… not fun, but..." he shrugged. "I'm alive."

Something about how he talked made Shota feel uneasy. It was in the blank, empty tone of voice and the furrow in his brow. As if Toshinori wasn't completely happy with the silver lining he was grasping at. That he would rather the 'alive' part not be true at all. Shota absorbed it, thinking. A thought occurred to him, then. He didn't like it. But, for some reason, he wanted to say it anyway.

"I want to tell you about my dream."

Toshinori looked over at him and did not speak. Shota took those moments of silence to gather his thoughts. If he was going to say this, he wanted to make it count.

"Every once in a while I have nightmares about my time in captivity. It's on my mind all the time. Sometimes it's hard to focus. I end up… back there. The abuse I suffered at the hands of those villains was horrific." Shota gingerly touched at the bridge of his cracked nose, wincing. "Sometimes I tell myself, 'at least I'm alive.' But, what I really mean when I say that is, 'I'd rather not be'. The things I went through, no living thing should have to experience. It happened because there is evil in this world, a darkness so deep it's baffling for any good person to try to comprehend. I've tried. For years, I've tried to answer that question. 'Why did this happen to me? I'm a good person. I don't deserve this.' And there just… isn't an answer."

Shota turned his head slightly to look at Toshinori, his one good eye heavy, tired, world-weary. His swollen one was barely open.

"There isn't an answer, to why good people suffer. We'll drive ourselves crazy trying to understand why. All we can do is the best we can with what we have. To try to make the world suffer a little less, even if it's just for ourselves and no one else. And if our burden is too heavy to carry on our own… we have to let our friends help shoulder it. That's why I let people like Mic and Midnight into my life. Because I was at the end of my rope, and I had to make a decision. Let people help me, or let the world suffer a little more."

Toshinori was watching him, his expression neutral, but Shota could tell it was forced. He could see the tension in his breath, the slow rise of his chest beneath his ill-fitting shirt, the thudding of his pulse in his too-long neck.

Shota watched his face, staring at his eyes. "I didn't like you for a very long time. When you were All Might, I **hated **you. I hated your guts. Because you didn't let anyone help carry your burden while you ran around smiling your fake smiles to a million cameras. And now, look at you. The consequence of that life has caused ripples throughout hero society. Everything is broken. Especially you. So that's why, when you finally admitted defeat and accepted my help? I started to like you."

Toshinori averted his eyes. He remained silent. His expression was getting a little easier to read. The cracks in his facade were showing. He was fighting back emotion, and failing.

"I made the decision to live. 'At least I'm alive' became 'I'm alive.' So I've saved children, and I teach children, and I do my part to raise up good people to offset the bad. And I accept help when I'm at my low points, because I'm alive. I **deserve **to live. I deserve people's help. And you do, too."

Toshinori bowed his head into his hand. His shoulders trembled, and Shota knew it wasn't just from pain.

"You're not All Might anymore. But you are still a hero, you said it yourself. You're teaching these children, too. Yes, you're suffering. Your body is broken. You've fallen from your throne. But you're still alive. You **deserve **to live. And your light still shines."

Toshinori wept into his hand, and he didn't make a sound.

"Say it, Toshinori. 'I'm alive.' Say it with triumph. Not defeat."

Toshinori wheezed, constricting his single lung. Shota could see blood on his teeth when he grimaced through his pain. His bony fingers clenched his temples, his palm obscuring his eyes. Shota could see every tendon in his hand, the bump of his wrist, the blue-gray veins spiderwebbing down his twig of an arm. This skeleton of a man was two steps from his own grave, but Shota knew which direction his feet were facing.

"I'm alive."


	11. Chapter 11

_/hey Mic/_

_/Present Mic: hey eraser. How are you feeling man?/_

_/fine. I have a question./_

_/Present Mic: what's up?/_

_/Yagi wants you to interview both of us on your radio show. Do you think you could work it in earlier in the week?/_

_/Present Mic: ...dude, really? After that fiasco?/_

_/Yagi seems to think it'll solve my problem./_

Present Mic sent him a gif of a Star Trek character facepalming.

_/Well? Can you do it or not?/_

_/Present Mic: only if I can call in that favor you owe me./_

_/What is it?/_

_/Present Mic: let's go on another date/_

_/Hizashi. No./_

_/Present Mic: LOL hitting me with my real name? ouch/_

_/Present Mic: I was only kidding, anyway/_

_/no you weren't. you were hoping i'd say yes./_

_/Present Mic: maybe I was a little bit/_

_/Ugh./_

_/Present Mic: why, am I not good enough for you or something? :P/_

_/I can see right through that emoji./_

_/Present Mic: fine, fine. I'm jealous, okay?/_

_/Jealous of what?/_

_/Present Mic: I saw how you were looking at AM earlier/_

_/...what?/_

_/Present Mic: you're totally in to him, dude. Head over heels./_

_/I don't know what you're talking about./_

_/Present Mic: deny it all you want, Eraser. But i know you better than that. You wouldn't be putting up with his blood-spewing, shivering, frail little skeleton-ass right now if you didn't have the hots for him. His condition right now is super inconvenient, you could've just dropped him off at home and called in a nurse or something. But you're staying over for days, man./_

_/You're reading into it too much. He needed help, so I helped him. Isn't that our job as pro heroes?/_

_/Present Mic: sure, sure. you keep telling yourself that, man./_

Shota stared at his phone's screen. His thumb hovered over his virtual keyboard. He couldn't think of anything to say.

_/Present Mic: Anyway. About that favor. I know what I want./_

_/Present Mic: sec/_

Present Mic sent him a link to a clothing retailer. An extremely expensive fashion jacket filled his screen. His jaw dropped at the price tag.

_/You can't be serious./_

_/Present Mic: I've been wanting this for months. C'mon, man./_

_/I don't have that kind of money./_

_/Present Mic: fine. fine. there's a cheaper one that i want, too./_

Present Mic sent him a link to a much more reasonable store. It was a nice looking leather jacket, not too flashy, and it was something Shota could afford- though he definitely didn't **want **to do this. He added it to his cart with a groan.

_/Present Mic: You buy me that jacket and i'll get your interview./_

_/Present Mic: here's a little tip, though. Just start loudly kissing him on air. That'll get the people talking about something other than how horrible you are, for a change./_

Shota put his phone away, grimacing, his mind spinning. He didn't know how he felt. Shota massaged his face with both hands, leaning forward on the couch with a quiet groan. He stared at the floor, at the stained and spotted carpet, chewing his lips.

_Who does he think he is? I'm not in love with Toshinori. I don't even think he's gay. Mic's the only gay guy that I know. It's probably the same for him, too, which is why he keeps wanting to date me again._

He felt pressure against his shoulder and lifted his head. Toshinori was sagging where he sat on the couch, leaning heavily against Shota's side, his head flopped forward. Panic seized Shota's chest and he turned to face Toshionri, his hands grabbing at his shoulder to steady him. He looked at his face, holding his breath.

He knew the warning signs of an overdose, which is what Toshinori's doctor wanted him to look out for, above all else. But Toshinori seemed to be breathing fine. His face was calm, he wasn't sweating or shaking.

"Hey. Toshinori?" Shota gave his shoulder a shake.

Toshinori opened his eyes halfway, his glowing irises meeting Shota's face tiredly. "Mmm?"

"You alright?"

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded, his eyes closing. "Tired."

"Feeling sick at all?"

"No… feel fine."

Shota felt a wave of relief wash over him as he realized what this meant. His medication was working as intended. This was probably the first time in days that his medication was working in harmony with his body. Toshinori was free of pain and nausea, and his exhausted body just wanted to sleep.

"Want me to help you into your chair?"

Toshinori didn't respond. His head was sagging forward again. Shota kept his hands steadied on his shoulders as he rose from the couch. He slipped his grip underneath Toshinori's armpits and leveraged him upright. Toshinori responded like a marionette, bonelessly following Shota's lead as he helped him walk to his recliner.

Toshinori sat down and Shota stepped out of the way of the front of the chair, leaning forward to grasp the lever on the side of the chair and pop the recliner back to a lounging position. The footrest caught Toshinori's too-long legs and Shota noticed how his pants bunched up against his bony ankles. He adjusted the cuffs of his sweatpants to cover his skin.

Shota straightened and looked at the man's face. He looked relaxed. The wrinkles in his brow weren't deep or twisted or scrunched. His jaw was a little slack. His breathing was steady and deep.

"Hey, Toshinori?"

No response. He was out cold.

Shota stood there, watching him breathe, the steady rise and fall of his ribcage beneath his oversized shirt. His bangs were a mess, spread over his face. Without thinking, Shota's hand lowered to sweep his hair away from his eyes.

_I'm not in love with him._ Shota thought as he hovered over Toshinori's chair.

_I'm not in love with him._ Shota thought as he bent forward, his face inches from Toshinori's.

_I'm not in love with him. _Shota thought as he planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. He tasted salt.

_I'm not in love with him._ Shota thought as he left the room as quickly as he possibly could, his heart in his throat, his footsteps fueled with panic.

_I'm not in love with him. _Shota thought as he shut the door to Toshinori's room, pressing his back against the wall, his hand against his chest, as if it would quiet down his own heartbeat.

_I'm not in love with him._

* * *

Shota never thought he'd be back here, especially so soon.

It was Monday morning, and he and Toshinori were sitting in the radio studio. He was a bundle of nerves. The first time he had done this, he felt almost nothing at all. Now, he felt like he had his head stuck in a lion's open maw. As he waited for Present Mic to start the broadcast, the best he could do was steady his breaths.

_Well, it's not as if my life can get any worse. I still feel like I'm about to be thrown to the wolves, though._

Shota had all weekend to think about what he wanted to say, but it had all gone by in a blur. His patient slept through most of it, waking only for the most basic of human needs. Shota never left the apartment. All he did was lounge around and make sure Toshinori was taking care of himself and eating right. He hadn't been sick, save for his coughing problem, which seemed irreversible. His patient had a bit more color in his face now, a little more energy in his steps, and the pain in his scar had eased up enough where he could walk and take care of himself unassisted.

Soon, Toshinori wouldn't need his help anymore. That fact kept Shota's mind distracted, unable to mentally prepare for his return to this dreaded radio station. All he could think about was what he'd do once life returned to normal. All he could think about was going home to an empty apartment, with his two cats as his only company. He loved them, but they didn't replace human contact.

Toshinori had been calm. Peaceful. Even now, as he sat across from him, Toshinori had a smile on his pale, thin lips. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. His eyelids were heavy, as he was fighting the drowsiness of his new medication, but he seemed relaxed.

"Now, I'm gonna have to ask you guys to tell me what you're planning on saying this time." Present Mic warned, his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his knuckles. "Eraserhead's little surprise last time got us a lot of listeners, but also a lot of confused and angry callers. It took me hours to smooth things over and explain to the station that I didn't plan that whole fiasco, that you guys threw me a curve-ball."

"I understand," Toshinori said. "All I'm going to do is talk about what happened at the USJ. Feel free to frame it like an interview if you come up with specific questions to ask me."

"Usually I need a script to do that ahead of time, my man. But if I get a burning question, I'll interrupt."

"Yeah, that's fine."

Shota's heart skipped a beat. He was going to talk about the USJ? He opened his mouth to protest, but Toshinori's heavy-lidded gaze shifted to him.

"Something wrong?"

"I- no. No, nothing." Shota swallowed thickly. He wasn't in a position to complain about this or tell Toshinori he couldn't bring it up. He didn't know what, exactly, Toshinori was going to mention about it, but he had a very good idea. And he didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Alright, then." Present Mic said, looking wary. Skeptical. "What about you, Eraser? What are you going to say?"

"I'm just… here to verbally agree with whatever Toshinori says. I figured… it'd go farther with easing the concerns of the general public if both of us are here agreeing with each other. It'll… go a little farther into smoothing over our current perception." Shota responded uneasily.

"We go live in twenty minutes. So take some time to shake out your nerves. You look like you're about to faint, Eraser." Mic told him, gesturing loosely, his hands clad in fingerless gloves. His nails were painted yellow today.

Shota nodded. He stood up to find grab himself a paper cup and fill it at the water cooler. His hands were shaking as he sipped on it. He paced around a little, unable to push back his agitation. His scarf was wound around his shoulders and neck as it usually was, but he kept feeling like it was going to choke him. He was tempted to take it off, but he knew that would only make him feel worse. He felt exposed without it, naked, as if he was in danger. But now he felt like he was in danger while wearing it, too. It was a no-win scenario, and it wasn't helping his nerves.

"Are you going to be alright, Shota?" Toshinori asked from nearby, his voice soft, still radiating peace.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Toshinori gave him a little smile, wide enough to show a hint of his teeth. "Everything's going to be okay."

It was a Toshinori smile. Shota's heart writhed. He liked that smile. He loved that smile. It burned him to see it.

Soon, Present Mic took up his position to begin the broadcast, and Shota seated himself across from Toshinori, setting his paper cup on the table. Present Mic began his intro, his voice significantly different than how he presented himself on _Put Your Hands Up_. Now, he was somber, professional, and clear.

"Good morning, listeners. I'm Hizashi Yamada, here to bring you some special news from the station. Before we begin our morning broadcast, we'd like to address an incident that occurred last Friday during the Put Your Hands Up broadcast. We have with us in the studio today two special guests: Mr. Toshinori Yagi, otherwise known as the retired hero All Might, and Mr. Shota Aizawa, otherwise known as Eraserhead. Take us away, Mr. Yagi."

Toshinori leaned forward to his microphone and spoke.

"Thank you for having me, Mr. Yamada. I just wanted to make a few things clear about what is going on between me and Mr. Aizawa."

"Go on." Present Mic said.

"Mr. Aizawa is my friend, and he embodies the same ideals that I do. Even though we don't often see eye-to-eye, he is a real hero. Eraserhead and All Might fought for the same things. I'd like to explain this in more depth, if you'll allow me."

"Go ahead, Mr. Yagi. We've got all the time we need."

"You might recall that UA students and faculty were attacked by the League of Villains in the beginning of the semester while we were holding a rescue class at an isolated campus facility called the USJ. I'd like to give a little more insight into what happened that day.

"When the villains appeared in great numbers, Mr. Aizawa rushed to defend our students without hesitation, knowing full well that his quirk is unfit for extended combat against large groups of opponents. Vastly outnumbered and outmatched, he held his ground despite overwhelming odds. In the midst of battle, a villain's quirk inflicted necrosis on his elbow. Both his arms were shattered. His skull was crushed and fractured. Several ribs were snapped through his skin. He was bleeding profusely, his clothes were soaked. When I finally arrived on the scene and pulled Mr. Aizawa out of the chaos of combat, he was barely clinging to life. I don't know how he survived. I believe he was holding on through pure force of will. It's a miracle he is still with us today.

"His body was so mangled and his face so mottled and covered in blood, he was almost unrecognizable. Surgeons had to reconstruct pieces of his skull. His face looks a little different now than it did before. Due to the severe trauma he sustained, he can't use his quirk as comfortably as he used to. Mr. Aizawa has been permanently and irreversibly damaged by his sacrifice."

"I have not heard him complain about this, or mention it, not once. He knew what he signed up for when he became a pro hero. He knew it would be a life of self-sacrifice. Without him, I have no doubt that Class 1-A would have been killed that day. It is thanks to him that our students are alive and well.

"Now… recently, this man was attacked in public. The people who hurt him claimed to be supporters of All Might. They believed they were justified in their actions. And I could not be more furious. This goes against everything All Might stands for. Peace. Selflessness. Justice. Mercy.

"Attacking people you don't understand. Glancing at social media and jumping to conclusions. Justifying wanton violence as heroism. You're no better than the villains you claim to despise. If you truly wish to support me, to support All Might, then start by following in Eraserhead's footsteps. Value the lives of others above your own."

Shota tried to process what he just heard. His throat was tight, burning. His eyes stung so bad he felt his eyelids were made of acid. His fingertips scrambled for his trusty bottle of eye drops, hastily applying them.

"Mr. Aizawa, do you have anything to add?" Present Mic urged, quietly.

"N-no. I don't." He said, his voice tight. He was audibly choked up. He hated this. "It's. All true, what he said."

"Mr. Toshinori? Any further comments you'd like to make?" Present Mic asked.

"Yes." Toshinori said, and continued calmly. "Mr. Aizawa has done nothing but help me these past few days. Yes, it was upsetting, what he said about me on the radio last week. But the way he's been treated lately is far more upsetting to me. For example, I'm aware that there's a photograph of us circulating the internet right now. The full context of that story is far simpler than the wild theories people have been spinning. And yes, I'm aware of them, I've been reading the comments.

"He took me to the doctor because I had no one to drive me. I've changed my medication because I've been dealing with some pretty bad side-effects. One of those side-effects was nausea, which just happened to hit me while I was in the parking lot. A bystander saw us and snapped a photo. And the cardboard box Shota was carrying contained my new pet cat. Nothing nefarious. I swear, I've seen so many weird theories about that box."

"You got a cat?" Present Mic asked, sounding… genuinely surprised by this.

"Yes." Toshinori replied, his tone far warmer, less professional. "Mr. Aizawa named her Fearless."

"Fearless. That's cute." Present Mic said.

"I named her after Mr. Yagi." Shota blurted.

Shota felt their eyes on him. Blood rushed to his face. He felt like his head was going to explode. He cleared his throat. "Ahh- that is. I named her Fearless because that's how he's lived. Facing the world's challenges with a fearless smile. It was inspiring, and I wanted the cat to have an inspiring name."

Toshinori stared at him. Present Mic stared at him. He dipped his head and ran his fingers through his long hair. That was a very, very stupid thing to say, and it was just broadcast everywhere. It'd make a weird story for the tabloids, that was for certain.

"As far as Mr. Aizawa and I go," Toshinori continued quickly, "I've forgiven him about the radio incident. It happened, it's over. And I appreciate what he set out to do. His heart was in the right place. So I'd like to echo what he suggested. I do not want to be interviewed anymore. I respectfully request that news and media organizations refrain from contacting me from this point on, and I wish to be left alone by the general public if you see me on the streets. Any further requests for comment will be handled through my agency."

"What- what about fan mail?" Shota asked quickly, remembering an incident in the store a few days ago. "I, ah. I'm aware that quite a few people wish to thank you for your service."

"Yes, that's fine. Mail can go through my agency, as usual. I'll read them all, and respond if I can."

"Any further comments either of you want to add?" Present Mic asked.

"I can't think of anything, myself." Toshinori said.

"Yeah. That's all we wanted to say." Shota said.

"Alright. Thank you both for your time. With that, listeners, we will return to our regularly scheduled program."


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm such an idiot."

"You're not."

"I can't believe I said that about the freaking cat. On air. To thousands of people."

"I don't think it was such a big deal."

Shota drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Of all the things that were discussed on that little interview, the story behind Fearless's name was the least of his worries. It was just the only thing coming out of his mouth right now. The thing spinning around in his head was the USJ. The fact that Toshinori brought it up, the level of detail he went in to, it showed how much he thought about it- how heavily it weighed on his consciousness. He didn't bring it up for revenge, to get him back for his radio stunt. Toshinori wasn't that kind of person. Knowing him, he was probably blaming himself for what happened, wishing he had gotten there sooner.

Shota didn't have time to process it. They were on their way to handle the next issue: addressing Toshinori's situation with UA faculty and students. Toshinori was feeling well enough to walk around on his own. He was feeling coherent enough to carry on a conversation without dozing off. So, naturally, he wanted to return to his work at UA immediately. Last night, while Toshinori was dead asleep, Shota had joined a group chat with the rest of the teachers and faculty to discuss how to go about their current situation. Present Mic's suggestion to hold a brief school-wide meeting and stick Toshinori on a stage to address the students was wisely shot down by Nezu, who knew that making such a big deal about it would only embarrass Toshinori, regardless of how well-meaning such an arrangement would be.

Cementoss's idea was far better received: to let Toshinori accompany the homeroom teachers for each class throughout the day to speak to the students in a much more private and personal setting. He would end up having to repeat himself all day, but it wouldn't be so formal as having the entire school dragged out all at once just to hear him defend himself.

As for Shota's situation, the general consensus was that Toshinori's radio plan would do most of the heavy lifting in terms of smoothing over his damaged reputation. The best Shota could do was proceed to life as normal and ignore any potential backlash the students would give him. Things would go back to normal eventually, and people would forget.

They were thirty minutes away from UA campus. Shota stopped at a red light, feeling numb, trying not to think. He had no idea what would happen when he set foot on campus or how the students and staff were going to treat him. Or Toshinori, for that matter. It was illogical to sit here and fret over something that was impossible to know, but he couldn't help feeling anxious.

What he was really worried about, though, was sitting right next to him.

"I'm glad your medication is working better now."

"Yeah. Me too."

Silence. Shota scratched the back of his neck, waiting for the light to turn green.

"Something on your mind, Shota?"

"No."

Toshinori stared at him, amused. "Funny. That's not like you."

"What?"

"You're lying."

He didn't have a name for the emotion that flared in his chest. He felt frustrated, like he was being accused for hypocrisy- and defeated, because it was true. Toshinori could read him like a book. "Fine, something's on my mind. I just didn't think now is a good time."

"It's up to you. But we've got about twenty minutes or so."

"Yeah, I guess."

The light turned, and the car continued down the road.

"I'm still worried about you." Shota said. "You're recovering, and that's good. You'll be able to get around without me. But I feel like if I leave you alone, you're going to struggle to take care of yourself. I've known you long enough to observe your habits, Toshinori. Even when you're healthy, you don't eat. And I'm assuming you don't sleep, either. Especially now that you're retired, you're… trying to come to terms with your new life. I just don't feel right leaving you alone."

Shota didn't look at Toshinori. He was afraid of what he might find written on his face. So he kept his eyes fixed on the road. As the silence dragged on, Shota knew he was trying to think through what he wanted to say. Choosing his words with care.

"I appreciate the concern. Really, I do."

He didn't continue. Shota waited for him to add something. That was it? He felt his cheeks burning and he didn't know why. It seemed like Toshinori was waiting for him to say something else, or change the subject, but he didn't.

They didn't speak for fifteen minutes. The conversation wasn't finished- Shota felt the tension hanging between them, unsaid words like a looming deadline.

Toshinori finally broke the long silence, speaking simply, frankly. "I've lived on my own a very, very long time, Shota. I'll be fine."

"You're depressed."

Toshinori massaged the bridge of his nose. He drew a deep breath.

"Shota, have you heard of the _Florence Nightingale _effect?"

What an odd thing to say. Shota squinted, shaking his head. "No."

"Well… it's a trope where a nurse becomes emotionally attached to their patient. When a patient is completely helpless and dependent on you, it's hard not to feel something for them, especially if you're not actually in the medical profession."

The steering wheel under Shota's palms was starting to feel very slick. He tasted a hint of copper, and realized he was biting his lip.

"Ah… that was a presumptuous thing to say," Toshinori said, and Shota could only assume he was noticing his tense body language. "If I'm wrong, I'm terribly sorry for this."

Shota swallowed. "Yeah. You're wrong." His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm not attached to you because you're weak and helpless right now. I'm not attached to you because I've been your freaking nurse. When you heal, when you take care of yourself, when you work towards a better life, I'm still going to be attached to you. I just. Want to be a part of that. I want to make sure you're doing it. That's all."

"I just don't like feeling like I'm your fix-up project or something. I just want to be friends with you."

Shota's lockbox was breaking, the contents growing fiercer, stronger, trying to shatter its prison. He felt his teeth grinding, his jaw burning, the chapped layer on top of his lips shredding. "I don't see you as broken and needing fixed. You're not a **project **to me, Toshinori. I **am** trying to be your friend. This is how I want to do it. I want you to be happy. I want to help you find happiness."

"That sounds like a commitment on your part. A big one." Toshinori said softly. Then, after a beat, he asked in a tense tone, "Can you answer me something honestly?"

"Yes."

"What do you think of me right now? Because, a week ago, you didn't seem to want much to do with me. And now, you want to make this… personal commitment to my long-term well-being. I have to admit, I'm feeling a bit of whiplash."

Shota opened his mouth to speak, but then saw the tell-tale UA towers approaching on the horizon. They were almost at campus. They wouldn't have time to talk about this. They'd end up sitting in the parking lot, wasting time, while their students waited for their arrival.

"Can we talk about this after school?"

Toshinori responded quickly, his tone soft. "Yeah. That's fine."

"I'll be taking you home this evening. Don't try to ride the bus on your own."

"I have to call a security escort with me when I go out in public lately, anyway." He adjusted his tie, glancing at himself in the side mirror. "Other pro heroes are fine, too, which is why it's alright that you can take me places."

It did make Shota feel a little better, knowing that. "Okay."

UA campus gates only opened for registered students and faculty. His car was scanned, and he was allowed to enter campus grounds. He pulled in to the parking lot and stepped out of the car. He waited for Toshinori to get out of the passenger seat. He stood close to him, but realized he didn't need his support to stand and walk. Shota walked very close to him, just in case.

"Hopefully all the students will be reasonable." Shota remarked as they reached the front doors.

"Everything is going to be okay."

_Funny_, Shota thought as he walked away. _Every time he says that, he's always right. _

* * *

Their return to UA campus grounds, so far, went as planned. All Might and Eraserhead were welcomed back with very little fanfare. As they moved through the building, passing by students and faculty, the most they heard in passing was "welcome back, All Might!" And "glad you're feeling better!" Toshinori responded good-naturedly to each person in turn.

Toshinori was starting at the top of the list. Class 1-A, the first-years. It just so happened that Shota was the homeroom teacher. When they arrived at the huge, red door, Shota paused, listening for chatter. They weren't talking much. He pushed it open to see what would greet him on the other side.

The mood was somber. Everyone was in their seats, watching him, but the mood changed almost instantly when Toshinori followed him inside.

"Oh, hey, it's All Might!" Kirishima was first to chirp, waving, pointed teeth in a crooked smile.

Midoriya's face lit up and he blurted, "Welcome back, All Might! I'm glad you're feeling better!"

The room exploded with noise, over half the class scrambling to talk over each other to be heard by the fallen hero. Toshinori took it all gracefully, giving them a warm smile and rolling with their enthusiasm, offering quiet "thank you"s. Shota allowed it for a few moments before he said sternly, "settle down, everyone."

For a room full of excited 15 year olds, they were quick to comply. They knew better than to push their luck with him. Shota and Toshinori made their way to the front of the class, standing behind the desk.

"First order of business. Tenya Iida."

Iida straightened in his desk. "Sir?"

"Those texts. You showed initiative and it took guts. You have strong morals, and that's the sort of quality we need in heroes. However, recognize that this was a very special case scenario. I don't anticipate something like this happening again, so don't let this go to your head. I won't appreciate being approached like this in the future."

Iida nodded so emphatically he had to hold his glasses against his face. "Yes, sir."

"As for the elephant in the room," Shota continued, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm sure you're all aware of what's been going on, due to how public I've made Toshinori's condition. I'm not here to explain myself or discuss this any further than it already has. I have nothing new to say that the media hasn't already been putting on blast. So, I'm leaving this to Toshinori to say whatever he wants. Afterwards, we'll continue on to today's lesson."

He nodded towards Toshinori and stepped aside, allowing the man to speak next.

"Thanks, Shota." The ex-hero said softly, before looking out at the class and smiling. He looked so calm. He must have been planning what he wanted to say for a long time.

"It was never my plan to explain my injury to the school or go public with this information. However, Shota helped me realize something. Hiding it meant that no one could help me when I needed it. I'm used to being the guy who's helping others, not the other way around. But my life has changed, and so have my needs."

Shota watched in shock as he pulled up the hem of his shirt with his good hand and displayed his scar for all to see. The grotesque and fragmented wound, flesh a bit pinker than it was yesterday, but still swollen and mottled and hideous, was displayed for all of Class 1-A to witness with their own eyes. Some of the kids looked horrified. Some, desensitized. Or concerned. Some mixture of the three.

"With all my heart, I pray none of you will ever have to experience something like this. But, as professional heroes, you must stay aware of that risk. The path in life you've chosen won't be easy. And you might get hurt."

He let his shirt fall, and watched the students with a quiet sort of sorrow.

"But don't make the same mistake I did and hide your wounds. Because I hid this from the world, I made it harder for new heroes to rise up and take my place. I made it harder on my friends and loved ones, watching me suffer as I refused their aid. And I made it harder on myself. So please. Rely on each other. Lean on your friends, classmates and teachers. Ask for help. I don't care what your reasons are, if it's pride or a sense of duty. There is no excuse to suffer alone."

Shota heard the air conditioner running. Distant, muffled sounds of activity far across the hall beyond the closed door. The students said nothing and didn't move.

"Any questions, before I turn this back over to Mr. Aizawa?"

Izuku Midoriya put his hand up.

"Yes, Young Midoriya?" Toshinori asked.

"Um… All Might," the boy asked, shy. "We were… um. All of us, that is. We wanted to know… how you'd want us to treat you from now on."

"As your teacher, all I ask is that you continue to respect me, as you always have. Don't treat me like I'm delicate or weak. I'm sure none of us here would want that if we were hurt by something, right?" He grinned, and it was genuine. Shota could see it in his eyes. "It's not shameful to need help from time to time, and it doesn't make us weak. So if I need help from any of you, I'll ask. I need to set a good example now, don't I?"

The atmosphere in the classroom seemed to lighten and relax, the kids sitting less stiffly, their concerned expressions easing back to something neutral or lighthearted. Shota found himself relaxing, too. Toshinori's calmness was infectious.

"Alright, I think that's all I had to say. Don't give Mr. Aizawa a hard time, alright?" He lifted his hand in a cheerful peace-sign and began to head towards the door.

The kids responded in a variety of "welcome back"s and "glad you're feeling better"s and "have a good day"s to their favorite hero, and once Toshinori was gone, Shota found himself feeling strangely empty. His presence made it easier to think. How could he follow something like that with just ordinary school stuff?

_It's the best thing I can do, right now. Just let life return to normal._

"Right. Let's move on. Today we're going to be focusing on the history of quirk regulation."

The entire class groaned.

* * *

Shota didn't see Toshinori again for the rest of the day. When class finally ended, he texted him to let him know he'd be waiting for him by his car. As he headed to the parking lot, his brain finally caught up with him, and he could think again. He could analyze how they day went, and compare it with his previous expectations.

Nobody had treated him badly. Even if they were thinking it, nobody said anything rude. Beyond Toshinori's visit, it was a very ordinary, uneventful day of school. He could worry about what they were actually thinking and saying behind his back all he wanted to. It didn't matter what their opinion of him was, as long as it didn't interfere with his job.

Shota was only waiting for five minutes before he saw Toshinori enter the parking lot. He was incredibly slow, favoring his left side, looking a bit pale. Shota debated meeting him halfway, but he thought better of it and waited patiently.

"I'm exhausted. Think I might have pushed it too hard," Toshinori commented as he belted himself into the passenger seat, sighing heavily.

"How's the pain?"

"It's pretty bad. I'm overdue on my meds. Didn't want to get hit with the drowsiness in the middle of the day."

"You should've stayed on schedule."

"Today was important. I won't do it again."

Shota accepted his explanation and turned on the car.

Their trip to Toshinori's apartment was uneventful. Neither of them spoke. But now that they were alone together again, Shota remembered their unfinished conversation from the morning and wondered if Toshinori would bring it up. He didn't. They still didn't speak as they made their way into the apartment proper.

"Now, then," Toshinori commented as he stepped into the hall, steadying his hand on the wall as he hobbled into the main room, a faint smile on his lips, despite the tension of pain in his brow. "It's about time I introduced myself to my new friend."

Shota blinked. That was right! He hadn't really had a chance to meet Fearless.

"If you open up some wet cat food, she might warm up to you easier." Shota said as he grabbed a can off of the kitchen table, handing it over to Toshinori. The other man nodded, taking the can. He popped the can-opener lid and opened his bedroom door, shadowed eyes scanning the room.

Fearless was in her favorite place: All Might's Golden Age uniform. Now, not only was it torn to ribbons, it was covered in cat hair. But it must have made her feel safe. That uniform made everyone feel safe. It wasn't a surprise at all.

"Hello, Fearless. Have you had some time to get used to your new home?" Toshinori approached Fearless cautiously, slowly. She watched him, unmoving. He knelt down nearby, far enough as to not bother her, but close enough where he could offer the can of wet food. Fearless lifted her head a little, sniffing, but her ears were tense, a little sideways.

"It's okay, Fearless. I'm not going to hurt you. Or give you any nasty medicine." Toshinori tilted the can a little, so the cat could see its contents.

Hunger was a powerful motivator. Fearless, by her own volition, finally abandoned her nest to approach the cat food. Every step she took was cautious, methodical, her attention zeroed in on Toshinori. He set the food down on the ground, and the cat finally settled down near it to start munching its contents.

Toshinori reached for Fearless's head, clearly trying to pet her behind the ears. The moment of truth. His fingertips hovered over her fur, then lowered to make contact. Fearless didn't move. She allowed Toshinori to stroke her on the head while she ate.

Shota watched him from the doorway, smiling. He didn't realize he was smiling. He didn't feel like smiling. He felt like crying. Watching this kind, soft man, it burned, a special kind of pain.

"There we go," Toshinori said as he pet his new cat, a smile in his voice. He grew a little more confident, sliding his hand down the animal's back when she made no moves to back away or hiss at him. "You're just lonely, aren't you, kitty? Never known what it's like to be loved before."

Those words. He was talking to Fearless. He was talking to the freaking **cat**. But Shota felt his teeth grinding, his fists balling at his sides. His stomach hurt. His eyes hurt. He couldn't hold this in anymore. He couldn't keep lying. Not to himself, not to Toshinori. Hizashi Yamada, as usual, was right.

"You asked me earlier what I think of you."

Toshinori lifted his head a little, looking over his shoulder, and Shota's lockbox shattered into a million pieces.

"I have feelings for you."


	13. Chapter 13

_I should not have said that._

Shota wanted to take it back, but he couldn't speak. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

"Thank you for telling me, Shota." Toshinori said, calm as always. His face was hard to read. Shota felt like he was stuck in quicksand, slowly sinking, unable to move.

_Being in this weird ex situation with Hizashi is bad enough. Why did I have to go and make another friendship weird? I should have just valued Toshinori as he is. I shouldn't try to turn this into something more. I should not have said that._

"How about we… talk about this? I can make us some tea." Toshinori's tone was casual as he pushed himself upright, his muscles trembling with exertion. Shota wanted to reach out and steady him, but he felt like touching him right now wouldn't be appropriate.

"Yeah." He was surprised he was able to speak, his throat was so tight.

When they left the bedroom, Toshinori left his door open, in case Fearless wanted to explore the apartment further. They entered the kitchen. Shota got the teaset down from Toshnori's cupboards, but otherwise, stepped back and let the taller man do most of the work. He seemed to want to do it himself, and Shota was trying to give him space.

It was agony, waiting for him to speak. But Shota didn't break the silence. Toshinori was probably thinking, trying to unravel how he felt about this little revelation, and put together his words. This wasn't the sort of discussion he was going to leave to snap judgements. Despite how impatient he felt, Shota was grateful for that.

It was an eternity and five minutes later, and they were sitting on that uncomfortable, springy couch, cups of steaming green tea in their hands. Shota sipped it, but his throat was tight. He could hardly swallow. The water burned against his still-healing lips.

"I told you in the car earlier that I'm feeling a bit of whiplash." Toshinori began, pausing to sip his tea. "How long have you had feelings for me?"

"Weeks. I think I was just in denial."

"Even before Kamino?"

"Yeah."

"I see." Toshinori took another sip of his tea. Shota could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He didn't interrupt. "And you don't think it's just because I've been helpless?"

"No. As I told you before, my feelings for you are genuine. I respect that you might not feel the same way. I respect you might not be gay. I'm content just being your friend."

"What is it you're looking for in a relationship?"

Shota rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I just know it's not Hizashi. He's the only other person I've ever dated. He wanted to go out and do crazy things, he kept hugging me or kissing me, he wanted spontaneity and adventure and he wanted to get drunk and go partying all the time. Just… too high-energy. And too needy. He likes buying a lot of things. But I like staying home. Keeping things simple. And I don't like being touched."

Toshinori nodded. "Yes, I see how I would be a bit more compatible with what you're looking for."

"Yeah. I felt comfortable here. I think we get along. We have similar needs."

They were quiet for a while. Toshinori hadn't turned him down, but he hadn't accepted his confession, either. Shota still couldn't read him. As the silence stretched on, Shota was able to gather his thoughts. "I'm lonely. I just… have a feeling that you are too."

Toshinori stared down at his teacup, its contents half-empty. "Yeah. I am."

Shota tried to drink his tea, but his guts felt too twisted up to get much down. His grip on the ceramic cup was shaking.

Toshinori continued. "I've… never pictured myself with a man. And I've never dated anyone before. I don't know what's right to do or say."

"If you think it wouldn't work, just go ahead and say it, Toshinori. I can take it."

"That's… not what I'm saying, either."

"Then what are you saying? What do **you **want?"

Toshinori sighed, running his fingers through his hair, combing back his weird bangs. Shota used to think they looked goofy, but now, he thought it was charming. It certainly framed his face.

"I don't want to be alone, either."

Shota turned to face him more fully, a lump in his throat that he couldn't dislodge. "Are you willing to give me a chance, Toshinori?"

It was the longest minute of Shota's life, waiting to hear Toshinori respond. He didn't want to look desperate. He didn't want to stare or sweat or breathe so shallowly, but his body acted on its own volition.

"It… makes sense now. Why you exposed my secret to the media, why you've stuck around even though things were awkward. I was thinking it was a little out of character for you, Shota. But you've **liked **me, this whole time." Toshinori calmly sipped at his tea. "I know you want to hear a straight answer. You… probably need to hear one, don't you?"

"Yeah. You're kind of driving me crazy right now."

"I'm sorry, Shota. Honestly, I wish I could give you an easy 'yes' or 'no' right now. But I can't. I'm thinking. Is it alright to give me some time to think?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fine." Shota said, but he didn't feel like it was fine. He hated waiting to hear a verdict, it was torture. "Would it help if you talked about it? Your concerns and hesitations?"

Toshinori drummed his fingers on his cup. "Yeah. I think so."

Shota turned away from him. The teacup was feeling too hot in his palms. More waiting.

"Lots of people have confessed love to All Might, but not me. I've never taken confessions from people seriously, because it never felt real to me. I just brush them off politely." Toshinori explained. "Nobody's ever been interested in **me**. Just, me."

"I've always liked you better than All Might."

Toshinori laughed wearily. He hung his head, twirling one of his bangs around his finger.

When he didn't say anything, Shota said, "If you're worried about the gay thing, no one will know. If we were a couple, I wouldn't want it to be public."

"I don't want to hide something like this, if we do it."

"I see."

More waiting.

Toshinori asked, "what is it about me that you like so much, above everything else?"

Shota's response was immediate. "You love, protect, and nurture our students. You live by example, and you give hope to kids. Not just the students at UA, but kids all around the world look up to you."

Toshinori's eyes softened. There was a smile on his lips, one of the soft ones that showed his teeth. The Toshinori smile that Shota had come to love so much.

"It's only fair that I tell you what I like about you, then." Toshinori said. "You don't play by the rules and you ignore social convention to do what you think is right. You pursue fairness and justice in your own way. Even if other people think it's wrong, you stand by your convictions."

Shota felt heat in his cheeks. In all the time he'd known Toshinori, he'd never been complimented like that before. He rubbed at his unshaven jaw, careful not to brush his fingertips against his bruises.

Toshinori asked suddenly: "so you don't want to sleep with me or anything?"

Shota spluttered. "_**Hell**_, no."

Toshinori laughed heartily, tilting back his head, his eyes wrinkling around the edges as he rubbed at his forehead. "You know, if I didn't feel the same way, I might have been offended by that."

"I already know your preferences. I have no intention of ever disrespecting them, Toshinori." Shota said. "As I said before, I don't really like to be touched, anyway."

"Thank you."

The knot in Shota's gut was starting to untangle. He could breathe. Hearing Toshinori laugh was like deflating a ball full of bad energy, and Shota felt light inside. He could finally drink his tea without feeling like it was getting stuck in his throat. He could finally speak freely. "You told me earlier that it was comfortable to exist in the same space. That's how I felt, too. I just like existing with you. I liked making you dinner. I liked sending you cat videos. I liked sleeping over here, knowing you were nearby. It… meant a lot when you rushed in when I had that nightmare. I felt stupid, but… it. Mattered to me."

"I… slept better with you nearby, too." Toshinori admitted.

"So I just… want more of that. I like you,Toshinori. Nothing has to change. Honestly, I don't want to do things any differently. I just want to be around. Like we have been all weekend."

"Do you want to move in here?"

"Not necessarily. Unless it was something both of us thought would work out."

"I see." Toshinori was quiet for a few moments, before he asked, "If we were to date, what are you most afraid of happening?"

"That it won't work out and things will be awkward at school."

Toshinori laughed again. "Yeah. That's my fear, too." He grinned at him. "So, no hidden skeletons in the closet you're worried I'll find out about?"

"No." Shota replied. He eyed the man a moment, and asked cautiously, "what about you?"

Toshinori took some time to think, and Shota figured he had gotten to the root of one of his hesitations. For as honest and upstanding as Toshinori was, Shota knew he kept secrets. Big secrets. And those secrets had a good chance of causing tension in a relationship.

"I hide things, but I don't lie. There are things about me that I don't want anyone to know. Not because I have done something immoral, but because I am afraid for their safety. Is this something you can accept, Shota? That I keep secrets?"

"Are the secrets going to hurt you, or others?"

Toshinori thought about that. "I think people are safer if they don't know the truth. That goes for me, too. I am safer, keeping these secrets."

"And you believe that, wholeheartedly?"

"Yes."

"Does this have something to do with Izuku Midoriya?"

Shota didn't even have to hear him say anything to know the answer. It was written all over his face. His guess was accurate.

"You betrayed my trust recently, Shota, and that's not something I can just forget about. I'm wary about telling you about this." Toshinori said, his voice tight.

Shota swallowed. "I… respect that. But… we're not going to make it very far if trust is an issue between us. On my end, or yours."

"Yes, I understand. That's why I'm thinking about this." Toshinori massaged his face.

Shota waited for him to think. Some of his diffused tension was returning, albeit slower, more hesitant.

"I'll tell you something to ease whatever concerns you might have, but I'm not willing to go into any details right now. Can you agree to that?" Toshinori said.

"Yes." Shota said.

"I gave my quirk to Izuku, so he could pursue his dreams of being a hero. He was born quirkless, but his heroic spirit was unmatched by anyone I have ever seen. I wanted to give him the power to succeed."

It took a few moments to sink in. Shota stared at him, his brow furrowing.

"You… gave him your quirk?"

"Yes."

"That's … not possible."

"As I said, I can't go into detail right now. And don't tell anyone. This is something about my quirk that **has **to stay a secret."

Shota felt like his whole world had turned upside-down. Here he was, sitting on Toshinori's couch, confessing feelings for him, and hearing bizarre things about his quirk that he never thought possible.

"So that's why his quirk is so much like yours. That's why you were in his corner from Day 1. You knew him already. You… gave him your power. Like a present."

"Yes."

"I… I see." Shota reached up to touch his nose, and quickly regretted it. It still stung like hell to touch. "Thanks. For telling me. I promise, I'll keep it to myself."

Toshinori nodded.

Shota had a very good guess as to why Toshinori didn't want this information getting out. If his superpower could be passed along from one person to another, he wondered if it could also be taken- by force. A villain getting a hold of All Might's superpower would be absolutely devastating.

Shota was then struck with the chilling realization that it was currently his responsibility to teach and raise the next All Might.

_How lucky we are that Toshinori Yagi is such a good person. If he wasn't… that superpower of his would have surely killed us all. He could have ruled the freaking world. And no one would have been able to stop him._

_And he's given that power away. To a child._

_A good child. But a child, nonetheless._

_And now, it's up to us to keep Midoriya on the right path. To raise a good hero. A responsible hero. A hero who recognizes the gravity of the power he has._

"That is my biggest secret. You can… rest easy knowing the others are of similar caliber. I'm not hiding anything immoral or obscene, but I am worried for your safety, and the safety of the world. How do you feel about this, Shota? Knowing this about me?"

"I'm okay. I understand. I respect it." Shota responded, and it was true. He was okay. A little freaked out, but okay. He could move forward, armed with this information, prepared to keep the secret of the power that fueled the legendary All Might. _  
_  
More silence. More waiting. But this time, Shota felt a little less tense. Their discussion had gone well. From what little he could read of Toshinori's emotional state, he seemed receptive to this. Shota was still worried about being rejected, but it seemed like a less probable outcome now.

He was expecting he would be left waiting a day or two for Toshinori to sort out his thoughts, and Shota was in the process of preparing himself for it. He was finding a good place, an emotional center. He was feeling okay about this. Calm. Rational.

Then, Toshinori set his teacup down on the coffee table with a clatter, and said in a huff: "Oh, what the hell. Let's try this out, Shota. Let's date."

Shota blinked at him, dumbfounded, his jaw slack. Did he just hear that correctly?! "I-... really?"

"Yes, really. I feel good about our discussion, so there's no point in thinking about it more. I've made up my mind."

Shota laughed. It was a single-syllable huff of air that hardly qualified, but it was the most Toshinori had ever heard him laugh. In fact, it was the most he had ever heard **himself **laugh in ages. "Th- thanks. Thanks, Toshinori. Thanks for giving me a chance."

Toshinori grinned lopsidedly at him. Then, he said, "you… might have to help me out, though. I have no idea what to do next."

"We don't have to do anything different. Just. Go about our day. I can make you supper and we can watch cat videos or something. I'll sleep over, for one more night, to make sure you're recovered. I have patrol tomorrow, so I can't be here tomorrow night anyway."

"Yeah. That sounds nice." Toshinori said. "We can figure it out a day at a time."

Shota found himself sitting there, at a loss of words as he tried to process what had just happened. He felt like he had just run an emotional gauntlet and come out victorious on the other side. Breathless and shaken and weary, but victorious. He didn't know if there was anything left that needed to be said or established. But Toshinori said it best. Taking it a day at a time was best. They didn't have to plan everything out at once.

The best he could do now was the next thing on his list: cooking dinner.

It had become a familiar feeling, playing classical music over his cell phone's speakers while he worked in the kitchen, cooking up stir-fry with soy sauce and adding in some of yesterday's leftover rice. As he worked, more questions and concerns kept springing to his mind, things he shelved away to talk to Toshinori about some other time. He didn't want to overwhelm the man with a thousand questions.

Occasionally he glanced over at Toshinori as he worked, finding the man still on the couch, drooping. Shota remembered he was still in pain. He hadn't taken his medication. He'd prepare his dose along with his food.

As Shota waited for the meat to finish cooking, he glimpsed something gray moving near Toshinori's bedroom door. Fearless had come out of the room to investigate the apartment beyond. She was hobbling less than she was earlier, growing accustomed to her life as a 3-legged cat. Her head bobbed around as she looked up and down at all the unfamiliar furniture. She stopped to sniff Toshinori where he sat statue-still on the couch.

Shota watched Toshinori cautiously lower his hand for Fearless to inspect, half expecting the cat to find this an unwelcome gesture. To his surprise, Fearless rubbed her face against Toshinori's hand, then rubbed against his legs.

It warmed his heart to see. That timid little kitty seemed to be accepting her new lot in life without too much of a fuss.

When dinner was finally ready, Shota served it and seated himself on the couch next to Toshinori again, tucking in to his stir fry. The flavor was mild. He didn't add any of the spices he usually liked, knowing Toshinori probably couldn't handle it. Fearless found a spot on the floor to sit nearby, keeping watch on both of them as they ate.

"So does this make us 'boyfriends?'" Toshinori asked as he poked at his rice.

"If you want to call it that." Shota said. "How public do you want this to be, anyway?"

"Well I'm not announcing it on Mic's radio show." Toshinori laughed. "But if anyone asks, I'm not going to lie about it. You can act familiar with me, and call me by my first name, whatever you want."

"Yeah, I suppose that's the best way to go about it." Shota said between a mouthful of rice and beef. "I'm buying you a TV, by the way. You said you liked movies, right? We're going to watch movies. A lot of movies."

"I'd like that."

At long last, Toshinori took his medication, and Shota got up to put the leftover food into the fridge. Despite serving Toshinori a tiny, miniscule portion, he still hadn't eaten it all, so Shota put his plate in the fridge instead of wasting it. While he was washing the dishes in the sink, he saw Fearless pawing at the couch, trying to jump up into the empty seat that Shota left behind, but unable to accomplish the feat without her hind leg. Toshinori leaned forward to pick her up and plop her gently onto the seat. The once-timid kitty crawled into Toshinori's lap and curled up into a little ball.

Shota smiled at them, his heart full, though his mind swirled with new worries. Things couldn't be so bad, right?

Even if things don't work out between us, I'm grateful for this experience. This moment, right now.

Shota returned to the couch after the dishes were washed, his hands feeling a little pruny from the hot water and soap. He took his phone out of his pocket to glance through social media.

Conversation in the #AllMight tag was dying down, shifting gears. There were a few threads about their radio explanation this morning, and it seemed to be doing its job at calming down the confused masses. There was less hate about Eraserhead- or, at the very least, it was less vocal. And, to Shota's relief, the pictures that Spark-Foot Guy posted earlier had been taken down and his account was banned.

Disrespecting All Might, the former #1 Hero, had its consequences- and it seemed whoever was in charge of moderating that garbage fire of a social media platform didn't let Spark-Foot Guy get away with it.

_Good_, Shota thought, as he closed the app. _I hope he learned his lesson._

He looked over at Toshinori, intending to tell him this good news, but saw that his dark eyes were closed, and his head was tilting sideways. He was breathing deeply. One of his hands was resting on Fearless's back, the cat looking equally exhausted.

Shota would have tried to move Toshinori to his trusty recliner, if it weren't for the fact that moving him meant disturbing the 3-legged cat, who already expended so much energy just to get over here. So, he put his phone away, scooted a little closer to Toshinori, crossed his arms, and leaned his head against his shoulder.

He felt Toshinori's weight shifting as he fell asleep, pressing against Shota's side. The two of them counterbalanced each other. It wasn't the most comfortable position in the world, but it was doable. And it was warm. And, as far as Shota could remember, it was the closest they had ever been. He adjusted a little so that he could lean more comfortably, his cheek pressed against Toshinori's bony shoulder.

_It's going to be weird for a while, as we figure this out,_ Shota thought as his thoughts began to fade into a haze of sleepy fog, _but everything is going to be okay.  
_  
As he fell asleep, he felt himself smiling, and it wasn't an Eraserhead smile.

It was a Toshinori smile.


End file.
